Fury and Flame
by JMIII
Summary: The 'Butcher of Shipbreaker Bay' arrived in the dead of night, during the war of the Usurper. Lifting the siege of Storm's End, and sinking the Redwyne fleet, were her first actions in this brave new world. For Azula Baratheon, they would not be the last. She played, the Game of Thrones, to win...
1. (Prologue) Willem

Thank(Prologue - Dragonstone: 10/13/283 AC) Willem

' _Rhaegar was dead, and rotting away in the waters of the Trident. The Army he gathered to engage the rebels, was scattered and destroyed. Aerys was mad, holding the Dornish princess and her children prisoner. And now?'_ Willem Darry thought to himself, _'Now came the news of the capture of Mace Tyrell, the decimation of his army, and the annihilation of the Redwyne fleet.'_ He rubbed his large leathery hands, in contemplation. Truth be told, Darry considered himself and his charges fortunate. He knew, King Aerys, well enough to know that he no doubt flew into a rage upon hearing of the destruction of the Reach army and fleet. _'Coupled with news of Rhaegar,'_ he thought solemnly, _'many innocents likely died to appease his anger.'_ He had always considered himself a loyal man, perhaps the only truly remaining loyalist, to the Targaryens. But even now, as he watched little prince Viserys cling to his mother, who still wept at the loss of her eldest son, he knew that the loyalists on Dragonstone were beginning to waver in their support. The only two things keeping the garrison from outright treachery was that they still held command of the Royal fleet, and were foolish enough to think that enough to counter what had destroyed the Redwynes. The men believed the Redwynes to have been utter fools if they had been destroyed by a little girl with a single ship. "Surely it was a fluke?" he had heard them whisper. However, he knew better, _'No fluke would lead to the utter destruction of a fleet that size. And if what little information, that managed to make its way to Dragonstone was correct, then that same fluke led to no survivors. A 'fluke' does not earn the title of 'Butcher,''_ As the old knight's exhausted mind contemplated a way out of their predicament, he had not noticed the Targaryen prince approach him.

"Ser Willem?" he heard the soft voice, of seven-year-old Viserys Targaryen, call to him. He had been unsure, timid, and concerned. There was fear in his young voice.

He tried his best to present a calm, collected, face before he responded, "Yes, my prince?"

"Why are we here?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"To keep you, and your family, safe, my prince," came the response, as caring and gentle as he could say it. "We are only waiting for your father to destroy the rebels who would claim his crown, your crown," he lied. He was no fool, and he recognized, that any hope the royal family had at survival, died to the Usurper's Warhammer in the waters of the Trident.

"Truly? I heard them say that the armies and fleet of the Reach have been destroyed," his eyes stared hopefully towards his family's protector, an old knight.

"Lies," he declared, placing his hand of the young boy's shoulders, "Lies told by the rebels with the intent to destroy us, from within. Pay them no mind, my prince," he cast a reassuring smile towards his charge, "We will survive this." The boy prince smiled as the doubt left his eyes, and Willem Darry felt himself more of a traitor than he could express.

' _No,'_ he thought to himself, as the prince ran back to his mother and excitedly told her about what he said. Queen Rhaella Targaryen, looked at him, a small spark of hope in her tear-stained face. _'I will have them survive,'_ the conviction had been evident on his face, as he thought those words, and he nodded his head in assurance to the Queen. She nodded her head back, in response, a look of determination shining in her eyes. From that moment, he began to set a plan in motion. All of the news the Master of Whisperers managed to relay to him, told him of a lull in the march of the Rebels. They had been poised to attack King's Landing after the Trident, and yet they had paused in their advance. _'It was known that Robert had been injured in his duel with Rhaegar, but not that he had died. For such a thing would have been the only way the rebels would have stopped so suddenly,'_ he thought. Furthermore, it had been revealed that Tywin Lannister had begun calling his banners. He, as of yet, remained uncommitted. The only thing Varys had reported to the man was that the former hand was massing his troops on the Goldroad, while his younger brother, Kevan Lannister, marshaled them on the Searoad, near Crakehall. _'That opportunistic Lion saw the bleeding Dragon, and the wilted Rose, and was weighing his options now,'_ thought Willem, in disgust.

(Prologue - Dragonstone: 11/9/283 AC) Willem

As the days turned into weeks, no one had moved. He had only heard of the rebels holding up in Harrenhall. While Lord Tywin, and his brother Kevan, had supposedly finished organizing their forces. _'Forces, which neared a total strength of thirty thousand,'_ he thought. Fifteen thousand of which were with Kevan Lannister on the Searoad, while the other fifteen, stood with Tywin on the Goldroad. In the pregnant pause that was this part of the Rebellion, many in Dragonstone began to question, "Perhaps peace was being discussed?" Others had even boldly proclaimed that "Maybe the Usurper _did_ die." Such wild news began to even bring a bit of hope, to Ser Willem, before a hammer blow destroyed it.

"A wedding?!" he exclaimed in surprise, unable to process the information the maester had delivered to him.

"Yes, Ser Willem," spoke the gray old maester, sounding just as befuddled as the old knight. "Stannis Baratheon is to wed a foreign woman who goes by the name of Azula."

"Azula? Azula what? What titles does she hold? Who is she?" he demanded. _'Was this wedding the cause of all this indecisiveness?'_ his mind shouted in astonishment.

"It doesn't say," said the man, "All that is written is the name Azula. She claims to be a princess of some foreign country called the Firenation. She was the commander of the forces who broke the Redwyne fleet in Shipbreaker Bay, and Lord Tyrell's army, near Storm's End."

' _So the Butcher of Shipbreaker has a name?'_ he thought darkly.

(Prologue - Dragonstone: 11/14/283 AC) Willem

After news of this wedding had spread throughout Dragonstone, Willem knew he needed to act. Especially, once he saw the pieces had, once again, begun moving. Tywin Lannister was reportedly marching his forces along the Goldroad, towards King's Landing. Kevan Lannister, on the other hand, had taken his forces along the Searoad and made his way towards Highgarden. A force of ten thousand rebels had been dispatched to King's Landing, from Harrenhall, headed by the Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark. The rest of the rebels had remained behind, under the command of the Lord of the Vale, guarding the usurper as he recuperated. Worst of all, however, was news that the black ship which had sunk the Redwyne fleet, was heading towards Dragonstone, and it would be here in a matter of days. Even with the temporary respite, he hadn't had enough time to make the proper arrangements for travel off of Dragonstone. He sought to find a safe haven in Braavos, but even the decent sum of coin the Queen held at Dragonstone was not enough to assure them all safe passage. Fortunately, and contrary to what Willem had originally thought, the majority of the garrison at Dragonstone, was not as keen to betray them. Once word had spread that the Butcher was on her way, they all looked to the Old Knight to lead them out. Some wished to leave on their own, taking a ship with them, but the majority were still of sound mind and wanted an organized response. Everyone who had possessed even half of an awareness of their position knew breaking apart at this point was foolish. _'The Butcher had taken only one prisoner during her brief history of battle, within Westeros, Mace Tyrell,'_ his mind uttered, _'a Lord Paramount. And who were they to even begin to compare in importance? If the Butcher's actions were consistent, she would only take two prisoners from here, and they were the ones he would not allow to be taken.'_

(Prologue - Dragonstone: 11/16/283 AC) Willem

After modifications had been made to several of the Royal ships, and a plan had been formed, Ser Willem Darry went to the Queen Regent. He informed her of how the operation would unfold at sea. "Your Grace? If you would allow me to detail my proposal?"

"You may, Ser Willem," she said, as a gentle wind swept through the balcony of the Queen's audience chamber. Their clothing swayed slightly in the breeze, as the old knight and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms held their meeting. The gust had come from the east, and both the knight and the Queen grew cold at what it might mean. The Queen paused as she sat on her ornate chair, staring out towards the sea, "A storm is coming," she said ominously. She protectively rubbed her small belly.

"Aye," he spoke, "but it is far off, and it will not hinder us in our escape." The Queen looked at him expectantly, sadly. "We will all escape, my Queen," Willem reaffirmed, looking towards his Queen, as she nodded halfheartedly. "We will begin by separating Prince Viserys and yourself," he stated and began to raise his hands in anticipation of his queen's natural reaction.

"You cannot," she pleaded as panic began flaring in her eyes, "I will not allow him to be without me. I am all he has left."

"I understand your apprehension, your Grace, but we cannot allow you both to be aboard the same ship. If you are both captured, by the butcher, she may end your lives. Even if she does not, and delivers you to the usurper, he may not be so forgiving. Especially if Tywin Lannister has turned against us," he said.

"Tywin. Has he struck against us yet?" she questioned.

"He has not, but his forces continue to march towards the capital, while his brother marches towards Highgarden," came the bitter statement. He knew what Tywin was, and how Aerys had wronged him, and it was only a matter of time. The queen, however, thought differently.

"Then there is still a chance that he will declare for us?" she said, a slight flicker of hope coming to her eyes. Eyes which stared directly at the old knight.

"Even if he does, he is too far away to do anything to help us," he stated, and the queen's eyes fell. "We cannot return to King's Landing, or the Butcher will cut off access to the Narrow Sea from behind us. Leaving us trapped on land, and surrounded by enemies. No, your Grace, we must turn east towards Essos, for a safe haven." The queen slumped her shoulders, in defeat, while still caringly massaging her abdomen. She looked towards the old knight and nodded for him to continue. Willem cleared his throat, "As I was saying, your Grace, we will have Prince Viserys and yourself aboard separate ships. They will be small, fast, and above all, unassuming. At an outward glance, they would not appear to be fit to bear someone such as yourself, but that is the point. We need the Butcher's attention to be drawn towards the larger, royal-looking ship. A series of smaller ships will be seen to be escorting the 'royal' ship, while the prince and your Grace remain as part of the 'escort.'" He stood silently, awaiting the Queen's acknowledgment before continuing. "The bulk of the royal fleet, headed by the royal flagship, 'the Seadragon,' will move to engage the Butcher and distract her attentions, while the 'royal' ship flees."

"Will she not be drawn to us? Surely, she will begin to sail towards us as she sees the 'royal' ship flee? How are we to escape if she attacks?" His queen asked.

"That is what the distraction force is for," came his response. "They are meant to prevent her from coming too close, too soon, and to give the illusion that the royal ship is the one she is hunting. Once she cuts through the fleet, she will maneuver to capture the royal ship. It is my hope, that she will focus enough effort on the royal ship to dismiss the smaller fleeing ships as cowards, and nothing more."

"All those men…you are using them as bait?" she quietly contemplated, looking towards the stone floor, before raising her head and locking eyes with him.

"They know where their loyalties lie. They would sacrifice themselves for the royal family, for you," he lied, yet again. _'All those men expected to board the enemy ship. They anticipated some casualties, but were confident they were going to win the day,'_ he thought. _'The captains of those ships were loyal, and knew of the sacrifice, but the crew did not, and they were likely not going to live to see tomorrow. Not if the rumors were true.'_ "In the event, she closes the distance too soon, the escort ships have all been fitted with royal sails. The sails are to be unfurled, and the ships ordered to scatter," he motioned his closed fist towards his chest, and opened it into a palm, to express his point. "This will force the Butcher to choose which one to pursue. As the ships, your graces will be within, are among the fastest, the distraction should provide enough of a lull in pursuit to allow for escape."

"And if she catches us?" his queen spoke unsteadily, hand placed upon her midsection.

He lowered his gaze, "She cannot capture both of you, your Grace."

"No, but she can kill us…"she whispered despondently.

Seeking to alleviate the awkward silence, he continued, "I will be aboard 'the Firewing,' to coordinate. Your Grace will be on 'the Dracarys,' while his grace, Prince Viserys will be aboard 'the Dark Siren.' If all goes accordingly, we will rendezvous in Pentos."

"I pray it does, Ser Willem. I pray it does," came the solemn voice.

"The men have all been informed of the plan, and we need only your leave to see it done." As he pondered their chances of survival, the bells began to toll in alarm, and the wind began to flow through the open balcony, beating hard against the banners and curtains within the Queen's audience chamber. He looked out from the balcony towards the sea and saw dark clouds forming on the horizon, to the east. He reached into the small leather sack strapped to his side and retrieved his Myrish eye, and looked towards the south. There, far in the distance, was a small pillar of black smoke, and the tell-tale glint of gold reflecting off of a small black dot skirting the coast. "She is several hours away! We must leave now, your Grace!"


	2. (Dragonstone) Lady Stork I

(Dragonstone: 9/1/290 AC) Lady Stork I

 _'That ship is enormous!'_ she thought in amazement, as the midday sun struck the golden trim at the bow of the monstrous ship. 'The Black Betha,' the small sail ship she was aboard, sailed past the imposing vessel. 'The Ozai,' as she later found out it was called, was docked near a large imposing structure. The construction, made of steel and iron, held several large plates of metal shielding, protecting the insides from the elements. What the little bits of sunlight, penetrating the interior of the metallic maw, revealed were steel skeletal-like pillars supporting the canopy and what appeared to be walkways complete with, what she later found out were, Flameguard and Firenation troopers, surrounding the smaller, though no less impressive ship, 'the Storm's Fury.' However, as striking as the building appeared, even she, a mummer from Braavos, could tell that a minimal amount of materials went into its construction. _'Almost as if it had been constructed in haste?'_ she thought. While she observed the 'steel castle' several sail ships, bearing golden Kraken sails, were seen being escorted by a larger number of royal ships. The small fleet of ships had disappeared around the metal structure, coming to dock somewhere along the southern part of the island, while 'the Black Betha' had been sailing towards the island's northern end.

"She is quite the beauty, isn't she?" spoke the captain of 'the Black Betha,' a man by the name of Davos Seaworth. He had come up behind her while she had been mesmerized by the metallic leviathan and its seaside cave. Together they stood from the bow of the slowly rocking ship, as he reclined himself on the railing. Davos, she had been told, had been a smuggler who had fallen under the Lady of Dragonstone's patronage following the events of King Robert's Rebellion.

She took a nip of wine from her small flask. "She is, she really is…" she uttered in response, the smuggler nodded his head in agreement. As the ship rounded the rocky outcropping, both saw the ship and building fade from view.

"It took quite some time to find you, milady," the smuggler said, still reclining on the railing.

"It is fortunate that you did find me. Your Lady Azula was most gracious with her coin," she said, twirling a Westrosi gold dragon between the fingers of her left hand, while firmly grasping the nearly empty flask in the other. "Any inkling as to why she sought me out?" The cool wind buffeted her long hair and simple clothing.

"Begging your pardon, milady, but it is not my place to detail milady Firelord's plans. She ordered me to find you, and find you I did," he said while staring out at the coastline of Dragonstone. 'Black Betha' began to slow as it neared its apparent destination, just off the coast. The only hint anything had been there, against the rocky cliff face, was a dull gray metal door with a large three-pronged golden flame emblazoned at its center. A pair of Firenation soldiers stood guard, the white faceplates focusing on the small ship. The smuggler captain touched her arm and urged her to go to the small landing craft roped to the side of his ship. "Time to go milady."

"It's about time, I do not think the sea to be a close friend of mine," she joked, as she and the captain strode across the deck towards the small awaiting craft.

"Nor was it mine, for a time, milady," he responded, with a chuckle, before he assisted her into the vessel. After she settled herself in, he joined her, along with four oarsmen, dressed in haggard clothing. "Lower us down, men! Wait for them," he respectfully nodded his head towards the oarsmen, "to return, before you dock at the island's harbor. I will be back at the docks, before night."

"Aye!" the crewmen answered, before readying the rope attached to the landing craft. The small boat started to lower, and the salty sea air began stimulating her nose and the gently crashing waves soothed her uncertain mind.

Izembaro, 'the King of the Mummers' as he liked to call himself, was the head of the Braavosi traveling troupe Lady Stork had been part of. He had been less than pleased when she had been approached with the Lady Azula's offer. The 'offer' being a tremendous amount of gold that she had not been able to dismiss. _'All the trouble this 'Lady Azula' had gone through to track her down was flattering,'_ she thought, _'and all to work as a glorified mummer,'_ a slight chuckle escaping her lips.

"Something amusing, milady?" asked the smuggler captain, as the small vessel kicked off from 'the Black Betha.' It began to slowly move towards the metal door, the waves gently nudging against the humble little boat.

"No, Davos, just reliving a memory," she smiled, as he murmured a response. He pointed towards the shore, and the dull metal door, which began to open. Emerging from the gloom was a small Yi-tish looking woman, clad in a red and black uniform, trimmed in gold. A golden flame headpiece was fixed into her tight hair bun, glimmering in the sun. An old, slightly balding, man wearing a black maester-like robe stood to the woman's left side. To the woman's right stood a striking young Volantene woman in a form-fitting red dress. A blood-red cape draped across her body, nearly covering her entirely, billowing slightly in the breeze. The red woman had a head of flowing blonde, near white, hair and what appeared to be a ruby encrusted choker. All had been mirroring the Yi-tish woman's enigmatic smile, as they waited for the boat to close the distance between them. The Yi-tish woman stood there, her hands clasped at her back, while the old man and beautiful woman stood with arms hidden under their robes and cape. The door clanged shut behind the small group.

As the ship grew nearer, the small Yi-tish woman began to bare her teeth in the most unnerving smile Lady Stork had ever seen. A dark glint crossed her eyes, _'As a predator awaiting its prey,'_ she thought. She felt the small ship slow to a stop, the water lapping up the sides before the smuggler captain offered his hand to assist her in exiting the craft.

"Milady?" he said, holding his hand out.

She stepped out into the shallow waters and lifted her dress so as to not get it saturated in the sloshing seawater. As her feet touched the rocky shore, she walked towards the woman and her small following. The smuggler waved the oarsmen away, and they shoved back out to sea towards the 'Black Betha.'

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Lady Stork!" she heard a silky smooth voice shout out in false welcome.

Lady Stork began to trudge towards the woman who remained inhumanly still. The only movement to come from the five figures in front of the metal door was that of their heads as they followed her and the smuggler trek across the stony beach. As she stood before the woman, she bowed her head, knowing this to be the custom when presented before a noble lord or lady. The smuggler to her left, Davos, followed her example and bowed his head in turn. "You may raise your heads, and look upon me," she commanded, her left arm motioning them to rise, whilst her right remained hidden behind her back.

"Milady Firelord, by your command I have brought you the mummer," spoke the smuggler.

The woman's feral smile fell from her face, a modest smirk overtaking it. "You have done well, Davos, and your loyalty is appreciated," she beamed, as Davos nodded his head, acknowledging the praise set before him. The woman then turned her attentions towards, her, the simple mummer from Braavos. "And you, Lady Stork, I imagine you have a multitude of questions as to how I found out about you, and why I have brought you here?"

"Yes, my lady, it is a question that has plagued my mind during my journey here," came her response as she nodded her head. The strange blonde woman, with the red dress, whispered something into the Yi-tish woman's ear. The Lady Azula tilted her head, to listen, before withdrawing. Afterward, the red woman returned to her peaceful pose and mysterious smile.

"Come with me," she gestured towards the two, Davos and Stork, before turning her back and leading them towards the metal door with the three-pronged flame. One of the guards reached for the handle and pulled the entry door open, a low metallic groan accompanied the opening door. The Yi-tish woman looked back, and uttered, "We have much to discuss."

As the group entered the darkness, it took time for Lady Stork's eyes to adjust from the bright light of the sun to the dull light of torches within. The two Firenation guards had remained outside, shutting the entrance behind the group. Five individuals had entered and all but herself were prepared for what the dark hall, of stone and steel, held. The torches of dull red flame suddenly burst to life in a brilliant blue as the Yi-tish woman passed them, leading them all down the intimidating corridor. The only sound accompanying the footsteps of the five were those of drops of water, or what she hoped was water, echoing throughout the halls. Several paths split from the main hall the five had been walking, some leading into brightly lit rooms, doors slightly ajar, and others down into even darker passages. She straggled behind, peering into one of these murkier halls, drawn to movement just past the reach of the calming blue light. Her eyes adjusted and caught sight of what appeared to be a pale white, naked, man. Patches of gray and black covered his arms, legs, and torso, _'the way armor would,'_ she thought, _'but these patches appeared to part of him?'_ As she struggled to make sense of the man, his milky white eyes turned towards her, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. A loud 'clang!' startled Lady Stork, nearly causing her heart to explode out of its chest. As Lady Stork jerked her head back towards the main path, further down the hall, she noticed the bright blue flames dimming, reverting back to their dull red hue.

"Lady Stork?" echoed the menacingly sweet voice of the Yi-tish woman. "It's unwise to get lost down here."

Before jolting down the main path to join the rest of the group, she cast one last glance down the dark hall and saw nothing. The pale man had vanished back into the abyss. Faster than lightning, she moved to rejoin the group further down the ever darkening hall, the sounds of numerous heavy feet following her every step of the way. Refusing to look back, and nearly at the edge of panic, she finally caught a glimpse of the safety of blue torchlight and heard the heavy footfalls recede back into the darkness. She rounded the corner, breathing heavily, having caught up with the group just outside a large black door. The others held slight grins on their faces, barring the smuggler, who seemed to be blissfully unaware of the monsters in the dark.

"Glad to have you back with us," spoke the Lady of Dragonstone, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Lady Stork had wanted to scream, at her, and demand that she be allowed to leave. However, the look in the Yi-tish woman's golden eyes told her all she needed to know. _'Go ahead and try.'_

The Lady of Dragonstone reached to open the black door revealing a respectably sized study with several bits of the rocky cliff jutting out of the higher areas. The walls had been covered with stone to smooth out the surface, she saw. _'Likely to make the area more accommodating?'_ she thought, trying to distract herself from remembering the naked man in the dark hall. Several dangerous looking men and woman, clad in uniforms similar to the Lady of Dragonstone, occupied the study. Amongst them were a smattering of normal looking men and women. All of whom were dressed in various forms of loose red clothing, wearing chains and chokers encrusted with rubies. The rubies seemed to have held a soft glow in the dimness before the torches in the study flared blue. All those within rose to their feet and bowed their heads, with the ones in uniform holding out their hands, and somehow causing a fire to form within them.

Lady Stork jumped back in surprise as the fire erupted from the hands of those who shared the Yi-tish woman's style of dress and look of features. They continued walking towards the back of the study, before approaching a small bronze door emblazoned with a five-pronged flame. At the center of the flame was a fist-sized opening.

"You, specifically, were brought here because Qyburn recommended you," said the woman as she positioned her feet apart, coming into some form of combat stance.

The others stepped away from the woman and Lady Stork followed their lead. She felt her hair begin to stand on end as strands of crackling blue energy began to form at the tips of the Yi-tish woman's fingers. She twisted and arched her arms in a fluid motion, before releasing the built-up energy directly into the small opening at the center of the five-pronged flame that adorned the small bronze door. Flashes of blue emanated from within the opening. As the energy began to dissipate, Lady Stork held her breath, utterly dumbfounded at the woman's display of power. _'What gods have I angered? That would condemn me to a hell of monsters in the shadows and sorceress that control the very power of fire and lightning?'_ She heard a series of clicks and snaps before the door opened. The woman stretched her arms, causing several cracks and pops to emerge from her joints.

She turned her head towards her and spoke, "Recently being with child didn't lend itself well to satisfying levels of practice."

 _'Children?! She has children?!'_ she thought, incredulously, of the small woman before her. The group passed through the door and entered a small room that held an ornate black desk, two chairs, a bookshelf, two torch stands, and tapestries. A red cloth trimmed in gold, and sporting a black three-pronged flame, draped along the center of the table. As the torches sprang in life, a blue glow illuminated the room and Lady Stork saw several books lining the small bookshelf behind the desk. A single chair stood before the desk, and Lady Stork felt that that was where she was to sit. Along the walls were small tapestries holding remarkably lifelike illustrations of people who shared the woman's features. The most prominent, amongst the tapestries, featured a portrait of a family, or what she assumed was a family, of four; all clad in red robes and clothing trimmed in gold. The mother, had her hands clasped and hidden beneath her robes, while the father's right hand rested on his knee, and his other on the right shoulder of his son. Both, the mother and father, sat upon two ornate chairs. Two children, a boy, and a girl, remained on their knees, at the foot of their parents. Their hands were resting, respectfully, between their legs. The four beheld Lady Stork, with stern gazes, barring the boy. There seemed to have been a bit of warmth beneath his eyes.

"From what he tells me, during his time with that sellsword company…" the woman began, causing her to snap her head back towards the woman. The woman paused, looking towards Qyburn, "what did they call themselves again?"

"The Brave Companions, Firelord," the old man answered.

"Ah yes, the Brave Companions," she said, rounding the desk to sit on the chair behind it. "During his time with them, he tells me you were quite the actress, or mummer, as you people call it," she continued. "Not too long ago, I was taught a lesson in humility that I do not seek to learn again. The cost had been too high…" she said the last harshly as the blue flames began rising higher, causing the small room to grow hotter. Noticing the shift, the Yi-tish woman let out a calming breath, before looking towards the small group who had entered the room with her. "Qyburn, you may continue with your work. Thus far, you have employed the knowledge within the scrolls, I gifted you, well. But, remember, I want more of them ready before the year is out. If needs be, use the captured spies, I'm sure the spider, and whatever other players seek to dislodge me, will not miss them. They have already given me the information I need."

"As you command, Firelord," the old man said, a serene smile lining his face, awaiting the nod of his liege's head, before retreating back into the study.

The woman turned next towards the Lady in red, "Cyvia, continue to keep an eye on your red-haired friend. I don't need her and her band of fools gathering enough clout in the red temples to cause any of them to waver in their support of me. Not at this critical stage. Keep her muzzled. Also, see what you can find out about the rumors of the silver-haired girl. It may be a false lead, but if there is a chance that she is who I think she might be, then she would serve quite a unique purpose in my plans."

"She denies the truth, Firelord. If she moves to threaten you openly, the red temples will deal with her. They have continued to ignore her pleas that you are false, and so she remains a feeble whisper in the dark. As for the girl, I will contact my fellow worshippers and uncover what I can, Firelord," she bowed her head, and the woman waved her off. She seemed to glide out of the room with a nary a sound.

"Davos, return to your men, and inform them that they will be allowed to remain in port for a week, but no more. I have further tasks in need of you and your knowledge of the seas. Spend time with your family, see your sons in the academy, and do whatever you wish, but ensure that you and your men are present here by weeks end for your new assignment. Dismissed, and remember to close the door on your way out."

"Yes, milady Firelord," he bowed his head and replied, before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. This left her and the Lady of Dragonstone alone in the small chamber.

She gestured to the opposite chair, "You may sit." Behind the woman's steepled hands, were her intense golden eyes, which remained fixed on her, as she sat down. While she was maneuvering herself into a comfortable position, the Lady of Dragonstone continued. "As I was saying, I learned a terrible lesson, and for some time I thought of ways to not suffer learning it again. Then the woman in red, Cyvia, came to me with an answer. She spoke of 'glamours.' Magic, from what I could tell, despite how primitive and distasteful the word sounds spilling from my mouth. These glamours allow individuals to gain the appearance of others, but not their mannerisms. When Qyburn first spoke of you, I hesitated, for you were from Braavos and I did not look too kindly upon that place. However, he said you were quite capable, at what you do, and I needed an answer to my problem, _now_. So I had the red priests loyal to me, keep an eye on you, as you traveled with that mummer's troupe. Once the information, relayed to me, had been corroborated by the others within my employ, I sent Davos to retrieve you." The woman locked eyes with her, a smile formed on her lips. "You are a smart one, aren't you?"

Lady Stork nodded her head in response, slightly off-put by the look in the woman's eyes.

"Good. Then I trust all the words I have been speaking are understood?"

"Yes," she responded, "You need me to impersonate someone?"

The Lady of Dragonstone leaned back into her luxurious chair, hands still steepled before her, the smile growing wider. She crossed her legs, and spoke, "Yes. I need _you_ , to impersonate _me_ …"


	3. (Lyanna's Bay) Commander Xie I

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

(Lyanna's Bay: 291 AC) Commander Xie I (by sensfan90)

"How are the harvests going Ser Royland?"

"Less than the Firelord hoped when she negotiated for the land. Luckily the smallfolk know of several good fishing spots and game in the bogs and rivers to supplement the shortfall. We should do better with the next few now that we've a good stock of the entire land. "

"About the smallfolk, are they agreeable to our presence? The Narrow Sea required considerably more prompting in order to bow to Lady Baratheon. My people mean no ill will but I'll be the first to admit we can be a tad aggressive once we've committed to an idea."

"The area has long suffered under the Ironborn with all of it having been in decline since the great plague a century ago if the local merchants are to be believed. Firelord Azula brought jobs, food and security from raiders they have not had in decades. Some of the more isolated clans chafe under their new Lord but they are in a great minority. Fools, if we were not so damm isolated we would not have lost so many to the bloody squids. By the Old Gods some areas of the land are so empty Wildings can camp for weeks before being spotted." Not anymore, god help any of the poor raiders who found themselves shipped to Dragonstone, death would be preferable. The young ones at least could be educated for the future despite their paltry origins.

"I must admit for a man of the land yourself you are awfully supportive of a woman you have known for barely a year."

"I respect anyone who gives the Ironborn a good blooding. She offered me a chance to ensure what happened to my family does not happen again. I question the amount of effort and coin she has put into these hills and bogs but His Grace and Lord Stark seemed agreeable to her plan. Whether it succeeds or fails I will do my duty."

"One does not question the Firelord in public and live long after. Besides as much as I question its future I cannot deny the vision behind it." And what a vision it was, building a new colony of the Fire Nation in plain sight. Sea Dragon Point served as the ideal area being a perfect combination of isolated, poor and open to acquisition with relatively little fanfare. It was a harsh land but he served in worse for years on the frozen coasts of the Earth Kingdom, he would endure.

"I gather your new wife has helped in that regard." Turning towards the shore he grinned as his beautiful young bride dealt with some craftsman along the shore. Clad in a forest green cloak of her house he chuckled as he could see the fear of violence in the poor men's eyes. He had heard many tales of the She-Bears as he fought on Pyke but he was quite content to learn only most of the stories were true.

"The Firelord searched all of Westeros for land, only the North and a few islands offered any prospects. I believe she is trying to evoke the history of House Manderly in particular. House Stark of Winterfell can be rather generous with its land as long as that kindness is reciprocated in loyalty." One needed only look at the history of the Wolf's Den to understand how. White Harbor was bought and paid for by the fleeing Manderlys and the land they transformed strengthened Winterfell far more than any cadet branch or petty lord would. A few of the more fanatical citizens may have grumbled under working for a barbarian but they would learn to adapt. After six years it was clear to all but the most desperate the spirits had sent them far away from home, likely never to return.

"If Lyanna's Bay can equal even half of the White Harbor she will have pulled off a bloody miracle. Convincing Bear Island to agree for a betrothal will help immensely. The Mormonts may be poor but a thousand blades is no joke to trifle with." He nodded as they continued walking along the walls of the new keep, its style making no attempts to hide its foreign architecture. He stopped to watch a few greenboys spar with the Flameguard who had accompanied him. He smiled as they were clearly outclassed, his companion grumbling at the realization his future as Master of Arms would be much more work than he had hoped. Not that he doubted the man would succeed in making them worthy of serving the Firelord. Royland Degore was easily one of the few Flameguard to pose a clear threat even to experienced benders. Strong, well trained and deceptively gifted in strategy he had sunk a dozen longships in the rebellion in a single night. Knighted by the King himself Azula had wasted no time in offering him a place in her guard. Given his new Lordship he doubted the knights' rise in status was as coincidental as he believed. Still who was he to question good help for no extra cost?

"How long until the docks are finished?"

"What infrastructure existed was mostly for fishing boats, nothing close to what you're asking. We converted some of the better shoreline for Galleys and Longships but the demands for your Iron Vessels mean using the Dragon's Cove. We're looking at several moons if not more."

"As long as they progress continues we have nothing to worry about. When the Firelord convinced Winterfell and her goodbrother of offering this Lordship the expectations were reasonable all things considered."

 _ **Dragonstone 289AC**_  
 _  
Years of training kept him still as the blue flames suffocated the rooms deep within Dragonstone. Lady Azula Baratheon had changed after the death of Ty Lee, duty and focus had consumed her in ways that would make her father piss in fear. He made no words, sought no acknowledgement. She would speak when he was ready and he would not disappoint her in any task she gave._

 _"Captain Xie thank you for your patience."_

 _"I live to serve the Firelord."_

 _"And that you have done well, Commander Lee, Zha Leng and my husband all praise your actions during the humiliation of the Ironborn. King Robert did as well offering a lordship and a knighthood. It just so happens a Lordship of some importance has become available."_

 _"May I ask where?"_

 _"Zonrik and San Hong have located several deposits of iron and valuable minerals in the mainland. Most of them are held in lands of Lords I'd rather not waste time on negotiating with if I can help it. A particularly large one however was found in a land desolate even by the standards of the North in Westeros."_

 _"Lord Stark has agreed to let us mine the land in return for profit I assume?" Shaking her head she casually motioned towards the map on her desk. Slowly she placed her finger to a jut of land along the Bay of Ice._

 _"No actually I persuaded Lord Stark of something greater in return for a considerable amount of freedom on the use of the land. You alongside a select group of colonists will construct a port on Sea Dragon Point. The port and eventually its ships will be under royal purview but the land itself will be sworn to Winterfell. Given the history between House Stark and Baratheon the announcement should be left with little fanfare. It is not as if Winterfell has granted us the White Knife, you will be in charge of the frontier in almost every sense of the word."_

 _Clearly the bewilderment and surprise was visible on his face for the Firelord wasted no time in deepening her explanation. "I will not lie and say it will be easy. What we will need will take many years and truly the land will not reach a point to be proud of until my daughter succeeds me. That does not mean it is unimportant or that I will accept any unreasonable delays. Sea Dragon Point allows us a western port in order maximize the power our great fleet and large area of influence in order to expand our domain. The Narrow Sea has offered us shelter in shadows but within the decade we will need space for the families to thrive."_

 _"Are there any other conditions I should be aware of in this task? Am I to hide my flames at all costs or am I to recruit from the locals as you have done? Are there any stipulations beyond the initial agreement?"_

 _"Several Red Priests will follow you in order to ensure secrecy, I trust you understand what methods are required. As for stipulations there were only three that Lord Stark demanded. The first as I said was the loyalty to Winterfell. As long as you toil and work the soils of the Wolf you are expected to answer their call. Reasonable and one I would have assured regardless. The second requires a more personal commitment, the land you are granted is informally controlled by a vassal of House Stark. In order to avoid any possible conflicts in the future you will have to take a highborn wife. Dacey Mormont of Bear Island has already agreed to the bethothal and awaits your arrival."_

 _"A marriage that would tie me to the land in blood."_

 _"Obviously, Lord Stark may be conservative and honorable to a fault but he is not the naïve fool some believe. I suggest you take her name in deference to her bloodline, as much as it detests me to acknowledge it becoming a Baratheon has opened more than a few doors in this world. As for the final stipulation you will tolerate the local faith, burning of the Heart Trees will be met with swift punishment. But we won't need to worry about that will we?"_

 _Shaking his head at the unspoken threat he knew the question was rhetorical. "As you command, do you have any other instructions?"_

 _"I will have a list of tasks to complete drawn up before Ser Davos escorts you and the first settlers on the moon's turn. I expect few problems for your new position in life. The Mormonts are poor but proud, taking their name and appearing to them as equals should allow us to settle without too much haggling. The promise of greater defence against the barbarians from the Iron Islands and Beyond the Wall should only make your task easier. The fact our presence will enrich them should keep any troublemakers quiet, if not you WILL take care of them."_

"Bloody hell that was a slog." Shaken out of his revelry concern overtook him at the his spouses' mood. Evidently the craftsmen were more of an issue than he thought.

"Troubles my lady?"

Snorting in a fashion most unbecoming of her station she shook her head. "The dolts tried to lie and blame the weather on their shoddy workmanship. I know the smell of ale as well as any man, long winters in Mormont Keep don't leave much else but drink, story and song. I may have spoken a few words about your patron to get them motivated." Grinning he pulled her closer, giving her a quick peck on the lips. Disappointed he felt a strong hand on his chest though her bemused expression gave him hope for the future.

"Easy husband they'll be time for that later. We have to speak with the Maester and the two prospective lords of the abandoned holdfasts. Your people have done good work in making them habitable but I am somewhat more reserved in how they respond to their new brides. As much as I appreciate the Fire Nation's attitude towards my gender not all of Westeros shares it."

"All these men are Northerners if memory serves. Any advice or do you plan to march me straight into an ambush?" Elbowing his side she laughed and tiled her in her head thought.

"Aye a Whitehill, a Ryswell and a Karstark. Ebbert Whitehill is like the rest of his family, competent but with an ego the size of Oldtown. Make him feel important and you can convince him of anything in time. Roose is the third son of Lord Roger and likely wishes a land of his own. The Bay of Ice is not the rolling hills of the Rills but he will suffer no surprises in this climate. His bride better well learn to stay her temper, the Rillborn are a quarrelsome lot."

"And the son of Karhold?"

"Torrhen, give him a good wife and a decent keep and you should have no problems. Be wary though, Karstarks are known to hold grudges for many years. Mother always speaks of how Lord Rickard still refuses to sit in the same hall as Lord Slate for a jest he made when my Uncle was a still a cub."

"Luckily their new brides should easily keep them in their place. They may not compare to yourself but I can assure you they are more than enough to keep their husbands in line. Adultery is not welcomed in the Fire Nation, it ends poorly."

"Oh I'm sure, fire has a nice way making a memory permanent." Chuckling and content to let the matter lie he proceeded further into the keep and into the nursery. The twins had his face but their eyes and hair were definitely all Mormont. They had a bright future ahead of them and his task would only make it greater. Looking fondly at his wife who cooed at their twin daughters Maege and Azula he only hoped it would stay that way.


	4. (Winterfell) Arya I

(Winterfell: 2/12/295 AC) Arya I

'Faster, faster!' she thought to herself.

Arya Stark propelled herself through the courtyard, past the old well, and the smithy, in a rush to get to the Great Hall where her parents were breaking their fast. As she ran, several smallfolk and house servants had waved, and greeted her, some shouting words of warning "Careful Lady Stark!" With the cold wind biting at her face, Arya increased her speed. She was intent on hearing whether the whispers of receiving a ward from Dragonstone had been spoken true, and she needed to hear it from her parents herself. Arya had caught wind of this exciting development when she had 'accidentally' eavesdropped in on the hushed conversation her older brothers were having in regards to the subject. They had been heading out of the Great Keep, towards the Great Hall, to break their fast.

"What do you think Robb?" she remembered her brother Jon asking.

"Her mother is the Savior of Storm's End. Reportedly a great warrior with an even greater mind. Or was it the other way around?" Robb had responded, before continuing. "Her brother, Steffon Baratheon, is well liked by the people on Dragonstone and the other Narrow Sea houses sworn to his father. He has been known to tour the lands of the Narrow Sea houses, and even some houses within the Stormlands. Her father, Lord Stannis, is fairly well known, and her youngest sister is as much of a mystery as the Lady Ursa herself," he had said, slumping his shoulders at his lack of information. "I have asked Maester Luwin if he knows any more of her, so as to not seem as much of a fool when she arrives, but no information has been forthcoming as of yet. However, if Lady Ursa is anything like her mother, father, or brother, she will be a formidable presence, and…" Before Robb had finished wording his thoughts, Arya, in her blind curiosity, had run into a wall. A small tapestry decorating the partition had come tumbling down noisily enough to reveal her position in the shadows.

"Arya?" Jon had asked.

Before either of them could react, Arya had shot out of the hall within the Great Keep, and into the courtyard.

The Underfoot burst into Winterfell's Great Hall, as several of the Stark household were finishing up their morning meals. Ser Rodrik had a brief choking fit in response to the sudden and surprising arrival of the little Stark girl. Her mother and father gave her a stern look, while Sansa gave her an annoyed glance, and she turned her head slightly down in shame.

"Apologies Ser Rodrik," she said, glancing up at him timidly.

"No harm was done," he responded in between his hacking coughs, "little one." He cleared his throat and gave her a smile.

She smiled her response and continued down the hall at a swift walking pace. She came up toward the head table where her parents and sister were and took a seat next to her father.

"Arya, you mustn't barge into a great hall like that," he said in a serious, and quiet tone before her mother added.

"It is unseemly for a Lady to enter as such," she said, as the Lord of Winterfell nodded his head in agreement.

"I'm sorry," she said wholeheartedly before her father let a small smile form on his lips.

"I take it from your excitement, you have heard?" he said, as a confused look formed on Sansa's face.

"Is it true father, really? Is the Lady Ursa coming? I must know!" she questioned excitedly.

"The Lady Ursa?" Sansa asked quizzically from her mother's side "Father? Mother? What is happening?"

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell exchanged looks and broke the news to their only two daughters.

"For some time, Lord Stannis, Lady Azula, your mother, and I, have been writing each other with raven and hawk, about hosting their daughter, Ursa, as our ward," her father stated, with her mother soon following up.

"They believe sometime in the North, away from the distractions within Dragonstone and from the rest of the south, would be beneficial to her," she said.

"What does she dress like? Is she pretty? Has she ever met the crown prince?" Sansa chirped her mutual excitement at having a Lady from the south as a guest.

Arya scoffed, before launching her own barrage of questions, "What does she know of the Grand Academy? Is she a warrior? Can she fight? What is her mother like? Is she like her? What have you heard of the Lady Ursa?"

Her father's expression turned slightly dark, "That remains to be seen, but if she is anything like her mother, then expect more excitement than you planned for…"

Arya's mother, Catelyn Stark, broke the uneasy silence that her husband had left, "Many of those questions you can ask of her when she arrives. All your father and I know is that she is…difficult. Also, she will be arriving, by horse, along the King's Road. However, her parents have given us their assurances that she is well aware of the consequences of presenting anything less than her best behavior while ward of Winterfell."

After that information had been passed to them, Arya and Sansa, had for the first time, shared a mutual feeling of anticipation while they waited for their new guest to arrive. Her sister, Sansa, would often speak of finally have someone her age to tell her of the South. Their mother did what she could with her stories about growing up in Riverrun, but they had eventually lost their magic. Even her tales of the tourneys, the feasts, the knights, and everything in between, could not liven them up again. Sansa had still appreciated them, of course, but the promise of fresh stories of courtly life in the south, from someone her age, brought out much hope in her.

Arya, herself, on the other hand, had quickly grown bored of all the knightly tales. She would seek out her father, or Maester Luwin, to learn about the Mormont women, their strength, and determination. About Visenya Targaryen, her dragon, her skill in battle, and how her wisdom brought about the formation of the King's Guard. Or the Princess Nymeria, and her conquest of Dorne. However, most recent of all were the stories of Azula Baratheon. The very much still living icon, of the strength women, and the feats they were capable of, had Arya enamored with the thought of one day meeting her. Her mother, like always, spoke of Azula not being the example to follow.

"She butchered defeated men who had been asking for mercy. She had dishonorably attacked men in the night as they rested. She holds the company of murderers, smugglers, and heathen fanatics," she remembered her mother telling her one day when she had come across her playing outside. She had been armed with a small stick and had haphazardly made her hair into a bun topped with a makeshift flaming headpiece when her mother had asked who she had been pretending to be. Her mother had told her, "The pretty maidens from the songs are the examples you should strive to follow. You should be more like Sansa."

She remembered that hurting and her eyes beginning to water. "But I don't want to be like Sansa. I want to be…like her…," she remembered whispering as she pulled out the small, leaf-made, flame headpiece from her messy hair bun. She stared at the headpiece pensively before her mother broke the silence.

"Arya?" she asked, concern lining her face. She placed a hand over her shoulder and asked again. "Arya?"

"Mother? May I be excused?" she remembered uttering sadly. Before her mother could answer Arya turned her back towards her and walked dejectedly back to her room.

"Arya?!" she remembered her mother calling out. To her mother's credit, she had realized her error, and Arya remembered being grateful that her mother had chosen not to follow her, or force her back.

That had been months ago, and her relationship with her mother, while warm again, had not been completely the same. But with news of Azula's daughter being ward, Arya had hope. With any luck the daughter of Azula Baratheon would be as she imagined her to be; strong, fierce, and a warrior. For now, though, she waited. Sometimes her little brother Bran would wait with her. He was eager to meet the two Flameguard reportedly traveling with Ursa, and he had hope, like she did with Ursa, that perhaps one of the Flameguard accompanying Lady Ursa would take notice and perhaps take him in as a squire. Even Jon and Robb would accompany her during her silent vigils. Most times, however, she was alone as she sat atop the battlements alongside the south gate. Always staring, whenever she could, southward down along the King's Road.

* * *

(Winterfell: 4/3/295 AC) Arya I

After nearly two months of endless waiting had passed, Arya saw a shadow fly overhead. It was larger than a raven's, and it headed towards the rookery, within the Maester's Turret, where messenger ravens would land. Arya ran. She ran down the steps of the battlements, through the stables, past the bell tower, and to the steps of Maester Luwin's home within Winterfell. He opened the door and jumped back slightly in surprise.

"Lady Arya? What…" he began before she spoke.

"Is it from her? What did she say?" She asked through labored breaths.

"She will be here in three days," he said, "She also requested some room within the armory, be set aside, for her Flameguard's weaponry and armor…"

Arya frowned before she saw Luwin smile.

"Oh, and her weapons and armor as well. Pardon me, my lady, I am getting most forgetful at my old age. Now I must go and inform your parents. If you will excuse me?"

"Of course," she said quietly. After he was out of earshot, she bellowed, to no one in particular, "YES!" and raised both of her arms in victory. Arya did not remember sleeping much those next few nights.

* * *

(Winterfell: 4/6/295 AC) Arya I

On the day of Ursa's expected arrival, Arya had awoken early. She rushed towards the Great Hall, to break her fast, and wolfed down her food before rushing towards the battlements, and standing watch at her usual perch. After several hours, Bran and Jon had joined her. Sometime after midday, when Bran and Jon had gone to the Great Hall for their afternoon meal, she saw them. Two black forms against the patchy whiteness of the King's Road. The trailing form was slightly larger and, as it grew closer, she came to realize was two horses leading a small carriage. Two individuals were riding along the front of it, one considerably taller than the other, and controlling the reins. The second, smaller form, was at the head of the small caravan, and in her heart, Arya knew who it was. It skipped a beat, and she rushed down to the Great Hall, to inform her family. Her family had all been expecting Ursa to arrive this day, so all had been presentable, and within minutes, they had all gathered near the south gate. They would show themselves together, as a gesture of welcome, introduction, and hospitality. Arya was eager to stand in her place between Sansa and Bran. A horn sounded and the gate opened. Arya held her breath before a young woman with a stern face rode in on her black, armored horse, the carriage trailing behind her. She stopped near the base of the gate and held up her hand in a closed fist. The carriage stopped, and she dismounted her steed, petting the unarmored side of its face, before stepping forward, away from it. Her dark red cloak, and deep black, shoulder length, hair billowed, in the slight breeze. The gust revealed a suit of black, gold-trimmed, leather armor, and boots, over red garments.

"Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Ursa," her father proclaimed, "treat our home as you would yours."

"Thank you, my lord," she said, bowing her head in respect. "I am honored to have you and your family as my hosts."

"The honor is ours, Lady Ursa," her father responded, with a smile, as he approached her. He held out his hand and guided her towards the rest of them. This is my wife, the Lady Catelyn.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ursa, I hope your stay is comfortable and without incident," mother said before father moved on.

"This is my eldest, Robb," he said, and Arya saw her older brother's face grow slack, before he shook it off, nodded his head, and smiled stupidly.

Her father gave him a look, before continuing "This is my eldest daughter Sansa." As Ursa neared Sansa, Arya noticed Ursa being several inches taller than her elder sister.

'Hurry up and introduce us,' she thought to herself, her excitement growing with each family member passed.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Ursa," Sansa curtseyed, and smiled politely, if falsely. Arya knew enough of her sister to spot the differences between her genuine smiles, and her fake ones.

'Hah! Not what you were expecting?' her mind shouted in triumph. Her palms began to sweat, and before long, a shadow loomed over her.

"This is my youngest daughter, Arya," he stated, with a slight hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

She froze, staring at Ursa, those golden eyes piercing her soul. "Um…hello," she said awkwardly before mentally slapping herself, and Ursa moved on towards Bran and Rickon. All the while, Arya ran different scenarios in her mind, on how she had wanted to seem confident and impressive. She failed and felt miserable, too embarrassed to visit Ursa the rest of the day.


	5. (Sea Dragon Point) Commander Xie II

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

(Sea Dragon Point: 296) Commander Xie II (by sensfan90)

"A raven arrived from Dragonstone, apparently your baby sister is making a name for herself." Looking up from a stack of papers Dacey quirked an eyebrow before shaking her head. Her mother the Lady Maege had sent her youngest to become the first Northerner to attend the Dragonstone Academy and her older daughters had been oddly perturbed over the whole thing. What could possibly be the problem, he quite liked the spirit of the young bear.

"In a pleasant way I hope?"

"It does takes courage to walk up to Lady Azula and demand anything, if I already did not love a Mormont woman I would now." Placing her hand on her brow she shook her head, rumblings of her mother come again between curses reaching his ears.

"I love my little sister dearly but she reminds me of why my dear uncle the Lord Commander could hardly stand a day in my mother's presence. By the Old Gods please tell she did not say Hear I Stand in an argument."

"No, though apparently the North Remembers was spoken more than once." Groaning he chose to move on before Dacey felt the need to work off some frustration. He may be a firebender but he did not favor his chances against a crazed bear with a morningstar in a spar.

"In more pleasant news from Bear Island the Scorching Bear Academy has graduated another class, we should see an uptake in construction and skilled workers soon. The Scorching Chambers are also now appropriate for an expanded class." Truly they could have started earlier but the extra precautions in order to hide the firebending chambers meant longer time spent using personal tutelage. He trusted the men and women under his command to do their duty but only the most talented benders could get away without significant formal training. Far too many intricacies one failed to appreciate until you had others to compare and contrast.

"Good, the engineers never have enough skilled workers available and the captains proper artillery. One less headache to worry about, I can only be as fierce as my sigil so long before they forget and complain over manpower once more." Chuckling at the many memories of his She-Bear cowing hardened warriors of the Fire Nation in exasperated fury he turned to other business.

"How many of the children within Lyanna'a Bay have shown the talent?"

"Ser Royland leads a squad to confirm the most recent case but if the Lady Zhi is to be trusted another boy. That would be forty seven since you founded the town. Twenty Seven girls and Twenty boys to be exact. Alysanne's daughter shows promise but I cannot confirm until she visits."

"I gather she will not mention why in her raven?"

"Prudence most likely, Maester Ebbert took more than a little prompting the day he learned of your abilities. The current Maester of Mormont Keep is even more conservative."

"Worry not Dacey, it's not the end of the world. The Firelord took care of this eventuality years ago, suffice to say it is in the interest of his blood to maintain his neutrality. Ebbert at least we could bribe with knowledge and status, I gather Bear Island will require more overt methods at some point."

"As you say. On that note the new barracks is finished and Ser Royland believes we have enough local flameguard to begin exercises on the next moon. Are you sure Lady Ursa cannot make the trip? If your people are anything like my own it would have the same effect as a Stark favoring a local inn."

"No unfortunately, the Firelord was quite specific in leaving her in Winterfell. I believe she also wishes to avoid drawing any attention to Sea Dragon Point. As far as Westeros is concerned Lyanna's Bay exists to keep the Ironborn honest. Our relative isolation has indeed helped so far. A fair point I suppose, why create a reason to shine a light on what else we are building?"

"Sensible in any case. The harvest looks to be a good one at the very least and the taxes show no abnormalities. Lord Stark will no doubt be happy with the extra coinage in his coffers. "

"I know Lady Catelyn is pleased, she probably expected our taxes to drop after your Uncle. Luckily settlement continues to be higher than expected."

"Do I want to ask where the latest batch came from? King's Landing and the Crownlands were one thing but the easterners seem never ending."

"Freed slaves tend to be loyal to those who gave them a new life. Frankly I wager the Firelord wants to make it hard to for spies to settle themselves in. Everyone here that works in Dragon's Cove is interviewed and screened extensively. We may be in the North but the number of immigrants means just having the look of the first men will barely get you a job as a laborer without some questions. Do recall the collector for the Master of Coin was caught, tried and hung in less than a fortnight when he was egregiously giving bribes. Its harsh and I understand your concern but the threat is very real."

"Yes yes, the world will only know when it's ready and all that. Lord Ryswell's horse breeding has started to bear fruit, he promises a new stead for the girls when they are ready. Typical Rillboy trying to woo a highborn lady with an animal."

"Excellent, I was concerned the outer holdfasts would lag behind but my fears were apparently misplaced. By the end of the year we should reach the goal the Firelord demanded when I left Dragonstone. I'm sure she will be pleased we will likely surpass her estimate by the turn of the century. By the time Maege takes my place nothing short of the full fury of the North could hope to overtake our land."

"Forgive me If I do not share your confidence. A lady of the North knows not find herself with child in the fall rains or the winter snows. When the weather finally turns you will be hard pressed to meet your sovereigns' demands."

"I have been assured food will not be an issue for the people of Sea Dragon Point. We have friends in the very heart of Essos who can supply us in the worst months. Our Iron Fleet is not near as susceptible to sea ice as the wooden vessels this world prefers."

"Perhaps it may but I withhold my judgement for when the time comes. To understand winter is coming is not just understand the Stark words, they are a matter of life for the people above the Neck. There is another matter husband, one you have been hesitant to answer."

"I showed you the flames the day you were with child Dacey, I hardly think the conclusion required further explanation. You knew the girls would spend time in Dragonstone at some point, fostering is hardly a new concept for the nobility in both our worlds. Your mother had little issue with having Lady Lyanna take her schooling under House Baratheon of Dragonstone!"

"Lyanna is the fifth daughter of Bear Island, with our children she is likely to inherit nothing but a minor dowry. You know damm well Dragonstone is to endear herself to the household for the future."

"I know you worried about the incident during the last moon but I have it handled."

"Don't be smart with me, I work with benders as much as you husband. What is this about further education from the Fire Lord personally for my daughters?" He breathed slowly and carefully chose his words, Dacey was right for he had been dreading this topic and what it meant.

"Azula is mostly a courtesy, she lacks the talent of her namesake and would not learn any more than from a bender of my caliber. Frankly the twins are so close I do not wish to cause a divide if I can help it. Maege however, she is special even among her own people. Combustion is not a gift to be taken lightly and requires extensive and specialized instruction to use in combat. Most require years of study in order to unlock the talent and few do for its many risks. Maege destroyed a tree by complete accident …shit Dacey that could have been her sister! I quickly taught her some basic arts dissipate her internal energies but I am no expert in its advanced state." The look of horror on her face was repulsive but it had to be said. His wife may have learned to interact with firebenders but even among his people some skills were a cut beyond the normal cloth.

"You will not take my children from me, not so young!" His gut wretched as the look of fear and worry overcame his normally unflappable wife. Damm him for doing this but there was no other choice.

"If all goes well she will not leave for over a few months at the earliest. Maege was terrified when it happened and years of standard bending instruction can put further instruction off. But by the time she is a woman blooded she needs to have taken instruction under a specialist. The faster she can master the skill the quicker she can return home. Now please young Jeor wishes to see you before bed and you know he has the lungs of a mammoth when he thinks you are gone." Dacey looked at if she wanted to throttle him for more answers but seemed to stop herself after a moment even her mood was still poor.

Sighing he ignored his lovers continued withering glare at the harsh news. Years of success and pleasant surprise had finally come to end with his own child no less. The original plan had been for the girls to spend time with Lady Ursa in Winterfell, to have her as a standard to compare themselves to. He had been there years ago when she decimated Chang in a duel and if his daughters learned even a quarter of her skills they would have no trouble ruling Lyanna's Bay after he passed on. But it was not to be, the girls bending took longer than he wished to appear and more importantly gain an acceptable level of control. The revelation of the latter's gifts made the journey all the more impossible. He would not be the man to explain how his daughter caused the Fire Nation's most important allies within Westeros to unexpectedly explode. Worse something was going on in the south, the spies had grown ever bolder as they attempted to access the Cove. Thank the Old Gods foreign trade was almost non-existent outside of Fire Nation citizens in the area. Even within the North they had consciously chose to avoid all but the Starks, Mormonts, Glovers and Forresters, with the latter two more out of necessity for the best wood and simple geography. You could keep track of those who fell into neither category with a single piece of parchment. As it was little birds stuck out like a sore thumb, and those were the ones smart enough to avoid the tender mercies of the Red Priests. Thank the old gods a Baelish man was a loyal as his next meal, coin never quite endeared a man as much as fear and power. Pouring himself a deep glass of rum he took a moment to collect himself.

"Here's hoping the morning looks better." He heard the door open and the familiar sound of the Maester's Chains reach his ears, evidently it would not.

"Do I have to go father?" Not even the horrors of Azula killing him could stand up to the look of his daughter Maege upon learning she would leave the only she had ever known. The Firelord had been quite ecstatic to learn of her abilities' and had written personally to Dacey and himself to invite her to Dragonstone immediately. Maege and Azula would be _perfect_ companions for her youngest Ty Lee. A sinking feeling in his stomach feared there was something she was not telling them. Regardless it needed to be done and his last meeting with the Lady Baratheon had reminded him she may be cruel and even sadistic but rarely faithless to those who have proven their loyalty.

 _"What is the status of the Northern Fleet?" Without making so much as a whisper Azula had appeared from the shadows in her chambers. Her Kemurikage as always joined her without breath or reaction. The calm orange torches of Dragonstone slowly bathed him in the stark azure glow of her presence. Evidently he was trusted enough to avoid the usual security checks or more likely he was cleared before he even departed on to the docks._

 _"We currently have three operational Zuko Class ships: the Iron Bear, the Rina in honor of your grandmother and the Argella. A fourth, the Rickard will be completed by the end of the two hundred and ninety seventh year after Aegon's Conquest. As I explained in my previous correspondence the demands for the new Azula class ship within Dragonstone has slowed its construction in deference to your quotas over the iron ore. We also have fifteen repurposed longships and 2 war galleys recovered from the Stepstones. We have several more former Greyjoy ships in dry dock but lack the men and supplies to man them continuously. As it is the ships often do not run with full crews, the colony needs the manpower to grow. I have adjusted some of the recruitment policies in response but standing protocols hamper any quick fixes. "_

 _"Should I be worried over your progress? Was I misinformed by your abilities on Pyke and the Iron Islands? I have been quite charitable in procuring men and supplies from Essos. I took your recommendation and saw a new academy constructed on a far off frozen island. Are you telling me it is not yielding the results you promised?" The smirk of sadism she hid so exquisitely from the many graced her features and he steeled himself. He was either doomed or to be tested, the answer was the same regardless._

 _"The results are well within the parameters you set your grace, in fact I will note the number of flameguard within Lyanna's Bay is already double what you asked. The people already identify more with your teachings than they do with the family sitting on the Iron Throne. They speak of Azula, Steffon, Stannis and Robert with sparks and tinder of hatred brewing against the dishonorable Lannisters staining the Queen and her brood in their eyes. Smallfolk of the Bay and Bear Island are already spreading your glory throughout the North without any prompting. Construction efforts across the board continue to be on time and we have reached a degree of self-sufficiency you may verify as more than what was asked. It does not change the fact your standards for crew compliments simply cannot be met at the current time. Benders must be born and trained appropriately, secrecy restricts my ability to improve what we have started for many moons yet." As quickly as it started the flames returned to less prominence, a cruel smirk turning into a true smile. Exhaling a breath he did not know he was holding it was increasingly clear the Firelord knew the answer to every question already. She slowly made her way back into the shadows leaving him to wonder what she had wanted. Hearing the click of heels he was surprised to see the cold face of the Lady Mai with a new stack of papers for him. Evidently he had new orders and tasks to fulfill._

 _"Oh do not worry Commander Xie, Lady Azula is actually rather impressed with your work. However the politics in the South have worsened some of her old habits. The pageantry hollow as it is for one loyal such as yourself is still necessary."_

 _"May I ask what the point of all this was?"_

 _"Your wife Dacey has conversed with Azula multiple times over the past months. Innocuous things mostly, any spies who got hold of the raven's words would conclude she was looking for a Northerners perspective on Winterfell. Given Ursa is currently fostering within said castle anyone with a brain would draw the obvious conclusion. However they did speak extensively of your work and Azula merely wished to ascertain your progress in person. You have her near implicit trust Commander, something rare and something I suggest you strive to maintain. She will return in a moment, I believe she had some more questions over the future." Perusing the papers he was surprised to read the number and nature of the reports. These weren't merely updated expectations to meet these were protocols for potential conflicts within Westeros, some of which made little sense. His thoughts were broken as Lady Mai placed two cups for tea and a tray of fresh biscuits upon the desk in front of him. The flames immediately changed as Azula motioned for all but himself to leave them. The tea was a bad sign, the Firelord would not deign to serve it for the two of them if she expected any more visitors. As she sipped her tea and calmed herself he noticed the flames twinkle ever so briefly as they were not doing before. It dawned on him Lady Mai was speaking quite clearly, the women he met upon entering was one of pageantry, the woman in front of him was the true Firelord. The tea was a final sign of trust, to eat and drink to show no poison of ill intent towards one's guest._

 _"Seven years in the North Xie, perhaps six if we consider your time at sea. Do you consider yourself an expert on their people, their politics? Cressen and many of the lesser men and women of Westeros have gifted us with great knowledge but I am not so careless as to ignore firsthand experience."_

 _"Among the Fire Nation unquestionably, though the brides for Lord Torrhen and Lord Roger will undoubtedly be quite informed." She nodded at the point, giving due credit to others seemed like the safe option._

 _"Then please enlighten me on its dynamics, its power as it pertains to the south. I have heard it is poor, frozen and barbaric. Yet it contains the longest unbroken dynasty in recorded history. How do you explain such a thing?"_

 _"Much like the Fire Nation realized as it fought against the Northern Water Tribe climate is a major factor. Few appreciate how much different a fall or a spring is in the North is compared to a full winter in the South. They are not truly poor so much as focused on more pressing matters. It also benefits from being virtually unassailable by land, Moat Cailin is a natural chokepoint that would eat an army even as great as our own."_

 _"The tales of the Crannogmen are true then? Of their poisons and tactics which would make the Yuyan Archers proud?"_

 _"The Neck is the worst combination of the Great Swamp of the Earth Kingdom and the forest of the Fire Nation my lady. The locals hold an absurd advantage and there is only one route to cross via the causeway. Once the Kings of Winter brought the Marsh Kings down from the North it became virtually impenetrable. Truly beyond the Ironborn the Starks have faced nothing but internal threats for the better part of a thousand years. Should we ever claim the castle in the Neck as our own it would be all but impenetrable."_

 _"Internal threats? Ah yes the Boltons of the Dreadfort. Tell me why are they still alive?" A queer feeling passed through him as the long rivalry between the families was common knowledge but he was in no position to refuse the indulgence._

 _"The exact reason may be lost to history but they did not simply walk away. The lands surrounding Karhold once belonged to the Red Kings as did the Sheepshead Hills and the lands of Highpoint. House Bolton remains powerful but they no longer threatened the Starks as equals. I wager it is a matter of internal politics, no House facing the Shivering Sea can hope to gain enough power to grow beyond Winterfell, a balance that would disappear if the Dreadfort faded away. The Boltons, Umbers, Manderlys and Karstarks contain each other without the need for a constant dynastic marriage akin to the politics of the Reach and Riverlands."_

 _"What of Roose Bolton, he seemed the odd man out among them when I spoke with him after the Sack of King's Landing?"_

 _"Experienced commander with a reputation for pragmatism, the man's an opportunist first and foremost but he is not foolhardy. The type of man who would follow orders but not shed a tear if he disappeared a few problems at the same time. I fear should Lady Ursa become involved with him during her stay." The light flickered again briefly, evidently he touched a nerve._

 _"Why would you believe that?"_

 _"Do not misunderstand my lady if she learned from yourself she has nothing to fear from him. In fact dealing with such an influence will only improve her ability to function effectively in Westeros. House Bolton has survived this long for a reason. I fear she has yet to appreciate the difficulty of what to do once she wins." Truthfully he feared they would flay and burn the North to the ground trying to out think each other, or worse find kinship in spirit. He did not know which was worse and he sure as hell would not say that out loud._

 _"Worried over your new holdings in such a conflict?"_

 _"I go where my Firelord wishes me. However I do have a family and will not endanger them if it does not interfere with my duty."_

 _"A jest Commander, now to more practical matters. Military forces available and who to focus on should the need arise."_

 _"The Starks have the most men, their vassals the Glovers and Tallharts have the same number of swords as many minor lords. After that the Boltons, Karstarks, Umbers, Dustins and Manderlys can raise more troops than the rest of the North combined. They can reliably raise twenty to twenty five thousand troops in good order but logistics slow their potential advance. I'd say thirty to thirty five thousand troops if they left it with the most minor garrisons, comparable to the Vale. I must note the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty and the War with the Ironborn has left them with a large number of veterans and experienced commanders."_

 _"Do you believe Ursa could gain their trust, their loyalty in battle?"_

 _"She is unbloodied and unproven in battle, barring the hand of Robb Stark she will have to earn it. Being the daughter of the Butcher will win her few if any favors, though the Northmen are the most tolerant of women in battle after the Dornish."_

 _"Disappointing but not without logic. I trust my daughter will do well regardless, she has never disappointed me yet." The words chilled him and he could not ignore the obvious any longer._

 _"Firelord may I speak freely?" A small tilt as she enjoyed her tea answered him._

 _"These are not mere questions are they? How long do I have truly to make my land and family ready?" The briefest look of concern passed through the eyes of Azula, one he only recognized from the same look Dacey had when he went out to sea in response to a raider. Just as it appeared the iron visage of the Butcher replaced it._

 _"Years hopefully, months possibly. I cannot give you a guarantee only that you do your duty. Lyanna's Bay is a ripe fruit which will be targeted, you will hold it when the time comes." Kneeling with his fist firmly in his palm he swore with total conviction. He would do his duty for there was no other option when commanded by Azula._

Calming himself and lifting his two daughters he kissed them softly as Dacey spoke one last time with the captain of the Iron Bear. Poor Captain Lee was withstanding a barrage of questions his wife logically knew but could not help but worry. Feeling a tug on his sleeve he turned towards Maege. Green eyes cast under dark raven hair so like her mother trembled as her fears became apparent. Beside her little Azula bless her heart thought it all a grand adventure and wished to meet Aunt Lyanna again after playing with her for days on end within Mormont Keep.

"Can't I stay with you, I did not mean to make the tree go all sparkly and boom."

"It will only be a few months on Dragonstone and Lady Azula will help you learn to make things go boom whenever you want. Your sister will be with you all the time and Aunt Lyanna can't wait to see you again. Besides this way you won't have to listen to Jeor wail at dinner for many moons." Smiling he exhaled as the childish scuffles of her baby brother seemed to have lightened her mood. Despite the heavy feelings of late he was reminded of her innocence and by the old gods and the new he hoped for her to keep it.


	6. (Bay of Ice) Dagmer

(Bay of Ice: 7/1/297 AC) Dagmer

"Damn this accursed cold," said the man with the snowy white beard, teeth chattering beneath his split lips. "There is nothing but shriveled cock and balls to be found on this damned wasteland of a coast." He heard grumbles and halfhearted acknowledgments from the crew, most of which had been too busy bundling up to muster anything more than that as a response. His longship, the Foamdrinker, had surprisingly survived King Balon's short-lived rebellion. _'Even after that damned 'Storm Queen' gave the rest of the Iron Fleet a sound thrashing,'_ he thought.

Pyke (289 AC)

"Once Rodrik returns from Seagard, and joins his fleet with Victarion's we will have the forces necessary to sink the remaining fleets of Westeros. White Harbor, Gulltown, all of them, shall find a 'home' with the Drowned God! Their women, their children, will be ours! Their men dead! WE DO NOT SOW!" he said, to the roar of the gathered Ironmen. "Stannis' bitch rid us of the Redwynes. Ensuring that they, and those wilted flowers, can do nothing but cower in fear of the Iron Fleet! I will take the damned Butcher of Shipbreaker as my salt wife. I will kill Stannis and his son, and 'feed' their daughter to my most loyal Ironborn!" he continued, the fervor and energy of the gathered men growing in intensity. "None shall EVER question who rules the seas!" finished proclaiming, King Balon, confidently. His king, now and always. Dagmer stood there, grinning, taking it all in. He was Ironborn, and they would take a kingdom for their king, or die trying! But first, they needed to rid themselves of the other man who held the title of 'King.'

"That fool King Robert," the king spat, "is no king worth following, his rule is weak, his kingdoms are splintered, and his forces are…" before his disparagement of Robert had been completed, a messenger barged into the throne room.

"My king!" the small man stated, with a spine only the strongest of Ironmen could bear.

"What is it!?" demanded his liege.

"The Lord Captain. His Fleet. Your son. Seagard…" he began, eyes staring directly towards the cold eyes of his monarch, "they were lost."

And like that, this rebellion died. Unceremoniously and with only a scant few weeks to be noted in a history book. _'There was no recovering from this humiliation,'_ Dagmer said to himself. _'To be bested was one thing. To be bested on the seas, another, but to be bested on the seas by a woman?! The tales of the Butcher of Shipbreaker Bay, earning her title, had not been exaggerated it seems. How could it be? That the entirety of the Redwyne fleet, was destroyed in a single night? To the last man?! It was Madness! But there it was. The Kraken had placed itself on the butcher's platter, expecting to strangle her with its flailing arms. Hopelessly useless out of the water, she contemptuously placed her hand over its thrashing appendages, cut, cooked, and consumed it, without even a second glance.'_ He had noticed that Euron, King Balon's younger brother had not been mention as having been lost.

"WHAT?! How!? What of Euron?!" commanded the Lord Reaper of Pyke, his mind likely going through the same thoughts but ultimately choosing denial at all the tales and rumors of the Butcher.

"The Butcher…my King. She came upon the Lord Captain's fleet after the burning and sack of Lannisport."

"Impossible! No ship is that fast, it can't be!" he interrupted. "Her ship is of Iron and steel, she came from Dragonstone! That is on the other side of the damned continent! It simply cannot be! It can not!"

"But it is, my king, and as for the whereabouts of your brother, Euron, they are still unknown." resumed the man, even before the King's glare.

' _He had stones, that one,'_ he thought.

"She overtook the Lord Captain's fleet with her Iron Ship, and destroyed them, before turning towards Lannisport to assist in calming the fires. A smaller Iron vessel, accompanying the Butcher's ship, was being captained by Lord Stannis and entered Ironman's bay. While the Butcher focused on assisting Lannisport, with a handful of royal ships, Lord Stannis and the remainder of the Royal fleet cut off the Ironfleet in Ironman's bay, and Lord Mallister routed the Ironborn storming Seagard. Your son, Rodrik, is dead."

"What is dead may never die," responded his king, eyes glazed over in hate, slowly building their fury.

"But rises again harder and stronger!" responded the gathered Ironmen in the throne room, before the Salt Throne.

King Balon shot a glance at Dagmer, before demanding, "Cleftjaw! Rally what ships and men you can from our forces on the Island's, and ready them for a counter attack!"

' _A counterattack? With what? Most of our power had been with Rodrik and Victarion!_ ' thought Dagmer, what short-lived confidence his king had had, seemingly evaporated into madness.

(Bay of Ice: 7/1/297 AC) Dagmer

He had been prowling the bay of ice and the parts of the frozen shore he could make it through, for several weeks now, with no luck. _'Reduced to raiding north of the wall! That damned rebellion! That damned woman! She had cut off the Ironborn's balls and had demanded Balon's head as well, only to be denied by King Robert.'_ He had been there, as Balon had been forced to kneel, as the woman had made her thoughts known, and if she could not have Balon's head, she would have his son.

Pyke (289 AC)

He looked on in defeat and humiliation, as his King, King Balon, had been dragged before the usurper in chains. They had all been present, Robert and Stannis Baratheon, Eddard Stark, Tywin Lannister, all of them. However, only one amongst the Greenlanders had stood out, only one, and he had immediately refused to believe that that small wisp of a woman was the one who had inflicted so much destruction, and shame upon the Iron Islands. 'The Butcher' had not been the large monster he had imagined, she was small of frame and appeared as if the slightest strike of a hand would break her. Then, as if reading his mind, she regarded him. A bored expression lined her face, while her lips were pouted in annoyance. She held her arms crossed over her chest, and had let her left finger tap her right arm impatiently. For what seemed like an eternity, her eyes remained fixed on his, and he thought ' _Those were not the eyes of a weakling. Those were the eyes of a monster_ ,' and they would brook no failure, suffer no enemies. Just as quickly as she had glanced at him, her attention had snapped back to Robert Baratheon and Balon Greyjoy.

"You may take my head, but you cannot name me traitor. No Greyjoy ever swore fealty to a Baratheon," his king said in defiance, glancing every so often at the small woman, who wore a smirk on her face.

"Swear one now or lose that stubborn head of yours," responded King Robert.

The oaths of fealty uttered by his king had been painful and strained, from what he recalled, but all sound had been lost to him at that point. He only acknowledged the woman, now, and how her face grew a sneer at the mercy Robert had shown. When she spoke after Balon had finished his oath, and Robert had commanded that Theon be given to House Stark, the silence in his mind had been shattered. Her words made the room seem smaller and had made the great men, gathered, seem like children.

"Your grace, I beg your pardon, but you're wasting your time," she began, half looking towards Balon and Robert "Balon Greyjoy will rebel again, once the sting of this defeat washes away."

"What would you have me do? Take his head after he has sworn to me, I am not the mad king!" Robert responded, his anger rising.

"No, I suggest a compromise and a solution to another problem we face."

"Which is?" Robert queried.

"Iron, for the ships you have commanded me to build. The Iron Islands have much of the ore needed to make your 'Crowned Fleet.' I propose you give Stannis, and I, Theon Greyjoy. Lord Greyjoy hates us most of all, but in his hate is a begrudging feeling of respect," she stated, before being interrupted.

"You know nothing of me whore!" shouted his former king. Lord Stannis gripped his sword before his lady wife placed a calming hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head towards his lady wife and they remained gazing into one another's eyes, silently discussing what was to be done of that outburst. After a few tense moments, Lord Stannis nodded his head and relaxed his grip on the weapon at his side.

"I know more about _you_ than you know about _yourself,_ Greyjoy," she spat, "How do I know this? It's because I'm a people person, and your intent is written all over your face. However, one truth will never slip your mind and that is, that you _know_ we, my Lord Husband and I, smashed your fleet. We cast down your walls, killed your brothers, and we paid the iron price to have to your son," His king hurled withering gazes towards her, while trying to futilely conceive a reply. The woman smirked, at his failure, and spun around to address King Robert and Lord Eddard directly, "While I respect and acknowledge Lord Eddard's honor and sense of justice, if he raises Theon, he will raise him as his own. This may cause him to hesitate to do what is necessary when Lord Greyjoy ultimately rebels again, we will not suffer the same sense mercy. Of course, Lord Stark, it is possible I have misjudged you. If I have, then you have my apologies," she said, casting an apologetic glance towards the Warden of the North, to which he responded.

"Aye. You cannot ask me to raise a child, your grace, not one that I may need to kill if the time comes."

Robert Baratheon regarded his friend and spoke in jest, "Gods damn you and your honor Ned!" before turning towards the sole lady in the room. "Continue."

"As I was saying, we will, in fact, raise Theon, to be the greatest Ironborn the world would ever see. And if Balon _ever_ decides to rebel again, Theon will be the one to take your head," she declared, focusing her gaze fully on his Lord and brief king, "and in so doing he would have paid the iron price for lordship of your Islands," she continued, as the Lord Reaper of Pyke glared at her with revulsion bubbling up beneath his eyes, "When that happens, not only will we have the assured fealty of the next Lord of the Iron Islands, your grace, but we will have complete access to enough ore to build a thousand iron ships!"

' _A thousand? Of those monsters? Was there enough Iron ore on the Islands for such a fleet? Possibly? It could be an exaggeration,' he thought._

"Well, bloody hell! Why didn't you say that in the first place! You women and your longwinded explanations!" he said jokingly, while his brother, Lord Stannis, frowned.

(Bay of Ice: 7/1/297 AC) Dagmer

There had been a few wildling camps he had seen, several pillars of black smoke indicating habitation, deeper inland, but when he came to investigate, there were only a handful of weakened wildling families or an empty camp. The wildling families he had encountered had fought back briefly before succumbing and being slain. Several of the wildling women had willingly gone with his Ironmen crew, mumbling about escaping the demons of ice.

"Demons of ice?" shouted one of the ironmen, in jest, mimicking a terrified woman, as they began their second round at scouring the very dead, very cold, coast. "No! Keep them away! Come save me with your big strong cocks, Ironmen!" exclaimed another. All began laughing, even Dagmer himself, the whole idea of 'Demons of ice' was absurd to him. He had heard tales of the dreaded 'Others' and paid them no mind, _'they had all been destroyed eight thousand years ago if they had even existed, and if they were returning they had certainly taken their bloody time!'_ The ship slightly shifted side to side, in response to some errant waves.

"Captain!" shouted a crewman.

"What is it, you pig fucker?!" he said to a roar of laughs between chattering teeth.

"A wildling camp, a large one!"

"Well let us have a look!" he drew out his Myrish far-eye, and saw in the distance, near the shore, a large camp of wildlings. All had their backs towards the sea, no fires, but certainly many fine women, from what he could tell at any rate. If the various heads of long hair buffeting in the cold winds, were any indication, they were fine indeed! ' _Even one with red hair!_ ' he thought, "Kissed by fire? That one's mine!" He truly had no way of knowing from this distance, of course, but maybe he was just getting desperate? "Ready yourselves men," he commanded, "we are going ashore!"


	7. (Ten Towers) Asha I

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

(Ten Towers: 297 AC) Asha I

"Another riot Asha?"

"I put it down already n'uncle, I've seen slaves with more coordination than those fools. Do they truly not understand? The Lady of Dragonstone wiped out our best fighters in the rebellion and we lost more in the Stepstones."

"The Ironborn did not fight on those thrice damned islands Asha."

"Any reaver worth a salt wife prowls the Stepstones at one point or another. You should leave your books more often, you'd be amazed what you can learn from the taverns and brothels of Westeros. Or who stopped coming for a drink and lay for that matter."

"I lost my sons to your father's madness Asha and many of my best men. Yet I still have you and my sister to think about. Those men, they have nothing and no one to go back to. Balon started a war we could never win and faced a foe that would make the Storm God smile with envy. We do not control our own mines and more often than not our few remaining ships cease to return."

'The Drowned Men speak of punishment for our weakness."

"The Drowned Men refuse to admit no one fears us upon the seas anymore. In your grandfather's time, the Mormonts and Mallisters still feared the sight of a single longship on their coast. Now they hunt it with relish knowing they have no comrades. The Farman's who still live in memory of Iron rule laugh at us when we sail. You've seen the books of Harlaw Asha, understand I am one of the few Lords who can still fight a battle worth anything. And what I am worth is not much."

"…..is there any hope n'uncle Rodrik for our future. For House Greyjoy?"

"As Kings, there is none, from Oldtown to White Harbor the cities have surpassed us in strength and ships with coin and men to spare. The very iron that gave our people and land life is used for the very ships that would soon crush us. You will need to chart a new future for our people if you wish to be little more than a poor content wife."

"I am no token n'uncle."

"Pyke is still a valuable port for all the damage it took and I have little doubt you will be named its heir out of spite if nothing else. The exploits of your brother serve nothing more than to twist the knife in our wounds. Though your mother smiles when she reads the words of the raven."

"She smiles at the Butcher who killed my brothers and her children?"

"She smiles at her son living free of the Old Ways which killed her children and saw her last son taken from her. What does my sweet sister have but the words and exploits of her lone son while you are out at sea? She has so little left Asha, humiliation for your father and the Old Ways keeps her going in these dark times."

"What would you have me do then? Be a kneeler and not but a thrall to the Iron Throne?"

"Targaryen, Baratheon and before that the Haores of Orkmont have had us in thrall. The Iron Kings ruled when the kingdoms were small and disjointed, they cannot rule now. We fear our future by ignoring our history. What would I have you do? I would have you make the Greyjoys and the Ironborn be something to be feared and not laughed and scorned."

"Words n'uncle, merely words. What men, what ships? Father believes we can raise fifteen thousand men, I believe ten thousand if he does not want the Western Fleets burning our homes while we sail for spoils and tribute. "

"You have read the letters I sent have you not?"

"Aye, the Firebitch and her ilk growing stronger every day, what of it? Kill her? Others have tried and her legend only grows. I will be no one's martyr."

"Her son is a young knight of respect and growing renown. A boy fostered in her care is the envy of young men from the Sunspear to the Wall. The Narrow Sea now houses a force equal to the rest of the Crownlands combined. Her daughter fosters in Winterfell and has made friends with its heirs and people. All this in a mere two decades Asha, she does not even control the Stormlands yet."

"Renly Baratheon rule's Storm's End, how would she possibly gain it?"

"Men of Renly's age and power do not stay single without reason, he is not very subtle in his tastes. I imagine a public incident will make prospective heirs unfit for rule in the future."

"How do you? Pfffft right you read it from some book or raven like you always do."

"I may be a poor captain but I am Lord of Harlaw Asha, all sailors reach my shores at some point. I simply pay attention to the right people.

"I get it Lord Rodrik, your point?"

"You must stop looking at Westeros as spoils and enemies and look upon them as an opportunity. Write to Dragonstone, make peace with our former enemy and use her. Whispers of intrigue from the Lannisters reach even my ears, having an axe ready to burn the Lion's coast at a moon's turn is an opportunity she cannot ignore. You know you have a friend in your brother if worse comes to worse, for the harsh justice of Stannis Baratheon will ensure he is no kinslayer"

"Father would never allow it!"

"Balon lost most of his power in the rebellion. Victorian and Aeron died in battle, Euron seems to have joined the Drowned God. Dagmer died against bloody Wildings and a score of our best captains took the black over the judgment of the burning stags in the years since. If you start now, build a strong and loyal core of ships and captains you can be Lady Reaper of Pyke in all but name in but a few short years."

"I would be her servant Uncle, your plan requires me to beg at her feet before we ever meet!"

"Your father taught you one lesson of worth Asha. There is no shame in bending the knee so long as it allows you to rise again stronger and wiser. So what if you become a vassal of the Firelord? Harlaw has been a vassal of Greyjoy and Haore for a thousand years and we remain the richest family in the Isles for a reason."

"There will be no going back, my father may be stubborn and even stupid but he is no fool." With a smug smile that never left his face, she felt a book in her hand.

"The Conquest of Dorne?" And then it clicked, the lesson she learned years ago when her Uncle first gave her the book. Oakenfist reaped like the greatest of Ironborn but he only succeeded because Dorne was focused on another enemy entirely and could not spare a single glance.

"Make your father proud Asha and you can do whatever you want."


	8. (Bay of Ice & Bear Island) Asha II

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

(Bay of Ice: 297) Asha II (by sensfan90) _ **  
**_  
"How many?"

"They look bloody identical but the Drumms were smart enough to gauge them by the look of their flowing banners. Three confirmed with who knows how many longships they've repurposed since the rebellion." She chewed her glove to hide her irritation at the words. Once again father's pride had cost the Ironborn more than it should have. Scores of ships from the Iron Fleet were left to rot in retreat, a decent commander would have scuttled them immediately. The Butcher had seen fit to take them for her own, they had had seen at least thirteen patrol the Bay of Ice during their voyage. A hell of a wedding gift for a no name sailor to his precious She-Bear.

"We can take three bloody ships." She liked her cousin Eerl but days like this she remembered he favored his Myre mother over his Harlaw father when it came to brains.

"One ship took down the entire bloody Redwyne Fleet in a night. Worse the hulls are sturdy enough for them to fight as if they were on land. Have any of you lads payed any fucking attention to the rebellion? Unless we have complete surprise or an actual damm Kraken we have no chance winning at sea. We scout to find a way to take the port or we don't bother at all." Some of her greenboys grumbled but the veterans of the rebellion nodded swiftly. They remembered the swift humiliation of the Iron Fleet when they thought themselves invincible after the burning of Lannisport. As the years moved by and seas turned against the Drowned God in favor of the Storm their numbers had only grown.

"You don't sound confident Captain." She turned to Maron Volmark, the lad had scarcely seen real combat outside a few wildlings but never lacked for confidence. There were a dozen better men she could think of to man her ship but her n'uncle had convinced her of taking a different path. Volmark was a vassal of Harlaw yet equaled the entire power of House Farwynd. Donnel Drumm, Baelor Blacktyde, Tristifer Botley , Jane Shepherd and Ser Aladale Wynch all sailed with her or took to the sea alongside the Black Wind. When her father eventually chose to challenge Westeros like anyone with a brain knew he would she would have the strongest voice. Not that she suspected her father would have a strong voice in any case, too many mothers and sisters lost their brothers and sons to stay quiet. Another point her Uncle had been quick to force down her throat, things like that cost Lords and Kings their seat.

"I had three brothers, two dead and a third all but cast out from the family. I had three Uncles, all dead or lost at sea. It's bloody telling the only one to accomplish something in life did so fighting with Lady Azula Baratheon. Dagmer Cleftjaw a sailor I learned and respected since I was a wee little girl chose the Frozen Shore rather than sail against her! Of course I lack the confidence to win such a battle, without some sort of plan I would be stupid or touched in the head." The crew laughed at her statement of the obvious as she signaled to head further North. The holds were filled with spices and it was more than enough to get them docked on Bear Island. A few fishermen with loose tongues had spoken of a large set of buildings in the deep forests of Mormont lands and she needed to know what it was. If it was another yard for naval constructions the North would need no longer fear the Ironborn. She needed a fucking drink.

"Donnel you fought in the Stepstones did you not?"

"Aye but I sailed east as soon as I heard even a whisper of the Royal Navy. Good thing I did, never heard a word from those men we left behind since. My father learned firsthand how fucking fast those Iron Vessels are in the rebellion. Best fucking lesson he ever taught me."

"How long do you think it will take before those ships could reach Blazewater Bay if the needed to, say in response to raiding?"

"Hard to say, we sail into the bay itself and they'd be good and ready to cut us off. Along the Stoney Shore we have the advantage of maneuvering on the coast but any winds that take us at sea won't be near enough to avoid the Firelord's ilk. Why do you ask?" So that was it then, unless they took Lyanna's Bay in the first attack they were sure to fail. There was a few ways to approach it by land in the south under cover but she doubted there chances of victory over the natives. They had so many bloody hills and bogs to cross and traverse they could lose an entire army in the advance.

"The only bloody chance we have is to catch them out of position, even so the odds are poor. I will be no Oakenfist in these seas. Man the helm, I am done for the day." A sinking feeling in her gut told her Bear Island would be no better for her mood.

(Bear Island, Nameless Tavern: 297) Asha II (by sensfan90)

"Play it again!" Ignoring the glares from the odd Mormont soldier she raised her glass as the Bear and the Maiden Fair played for the umpteenth time. Just because she had eaten their salt and bread did not mean she could not have a little fun at their expense. Besides looking the like the spiteful Greyjoy always made it easier to move in the open. Not even flinching as her childhood friend slid into the booth she brought the mug to cover her lips from prying eyes.

"Aye Botley any news from our mead loving friends?"

"More than I thought but less than I'd hoped. Bloody worse than we thought if the Mormont Keep is anything to go by." That had been an unsettling sight, the old and weathered wooden longhall replaced with hard stone, the earthen palisade thickened and fortified by two lines of fresh timber. This land was supposed to be dirt poor after the infamous failures of its former lord, where did they get the coin?

"The smallfolk aren't exactly hiding their joy. The slaver Jorah Mormont left the family with little, his niece however moved in without missing a beat. She brought those Fire Nation types and suddenly there was work everywhere. I know my accents though, someone has been breaking chains in Essos and dumping them here. Lys, Myr and Volantis by my ear. Good with their hands and tools no doubt. Fucking Red Priests are everywhere though, I did not push my luck with em too much." And no one would question too deeply how they arrived. Why ask a freed slave how'd he suffered? Or where all this gold and silver for stone and wages appeared?

"I take it Sea Dragon Point is doing better than we had thought. Lady Dacey had a son a few years past, she may be readying his seat."

"Likely, or perhaps they are fortifying the island in preparation for the future. The Firelord turned a land of hills and bogs into a fortress in a single summer. I'd wager she could do more with a land such as this given the chance. Or maybe the Stag on the Iron Throne gave her the coin for more glory, the entire realm knows how he and the Falcon have placed in Dragonstone." She downed her drink at Shepherd's words and silently agreed the lass was right. But there was something they were missing, the port had been the same as she remembered from her youth. Oh it looked cleaner and the people with Yi Tish and Essosi features gave their origin away but not like Lyanna's Bay. That was a garrisoned naval holding with a town to support it, this was something different.

"Mommy, look at what I got at school today!" Surprised by the voice she looked at the barmaid join her daughter, a piece of parchment in hand. Looking around she noticed a score of children join their parents with similar pieces.

"Oh did you pass your test?"

"Uh huh, best in the class! I got a perfect score for the lands and castles of the North!" She motioned for another drink in order to get closer and oh so suddenly things fell into place. The girl was probably a bastard or a fisherman's brood but she had her letters and numbers incredibly young! Such a thing was unheard for Westeros and the state Jorah Mormont left this land in sure as hell meant the coin for tutors did not exist. They were building no ships, they were building a bloody army. Not warriors perhaps but the merchants, craftsman, cobblers and smiths to support it, in many ways so much worse. Boys and girls who thought like Azula wanted them to, just like the Drowned Men filled the Isles with their speeches in the harsh days along the shore. It was insidious as it was brilliant and she highly doubted King's Landing or Winterfell appreciated just how deeply this could affect the people.

"Botley, Shepherd tell the crew we leave in the morning, I got what we came for."

"A girl knowing her keeps and banners is the key?" Ignoring the lack of foresight from her companion she felt the smooth liquid of the mead ease her mood. Well not treasonous or even blasphemy it was startling the Firelord could do such a thing in Westeros. And it spoke of so much more than the world thought. A legendary warrior, a powerful navy and a group to mold the people into an ideal, replace Old Ways with the Butcher's ways and it was almost poetic. She sighed as it seemed her path in the future was set whether she liked it or not.

"Fucking n'uncle was right I'm gonna have to talk to the bloody fire bitch."


	9. (Dragonstone) Mai I

(Dragonstone: 12/22/297 AC) Mai I

A fruity, floral, aroma greeted her nostrils, as she exited the lift. The dark, though well kept, underground hall, was inundated with the sweet-smelling fragrance.

 _'Likely because the last time I was here it smelled like rotting offal,'_ Mai thought to herself. _'I suppose the old man is finally cleaning up after himself?'_

Azula, Mai's childhood friend, and current sitting Fire Lord, had summoned her down into this specially made hell.

 _'Only she could have designed, and constructed, something like…this…,'_ Mai frowned in thought, though not necessarily in disagreement. After Ty Lee, Mai cared nothing for the enemies of Azula, _'Let them challenge her, let them fall to her, let them fear her…'_ she had often found herself thinking terribly. The lift rail, behind her, clanged shut, while the dull red torches lining the walls of the hall flared blue. _'She's here,'_ Mai found herself relaxing at the thought. Her mental utterance rang true, and the iron door, with the Firenation crest, unlocked and opened ahead.

Mai found herself straightening up, and keeping the title 'Firelord' waiting on her lips, as Azula slipped into view. She had been ready to slap her left-hand fist into her open right palm before Azula waved her off.

"No need for that, Mai, not from you," she stated, causing Mai to raise an eyebrow in surprise. Azula had caught her reflexive gesture, and snorted, "Surprised? I would be too, but sometimes everyone bowing, _all the time_ , gets boring." Azula held the door open for her, as she continued speaking. "Even as that statement leaves my lips, I still cannot comprehend that I've said it," Azula laughed her cheerless laugh before she turned to her. "But seriously, it feels…hollow. I will gain more satisfaction from it when I control something more than just these dreary rocks!"

"It's not so bad," Mai thought aloud, causing Azula to blink. "I will admit," she uttered flatly, as she passed through the threshold, "this place has grown on me." Azula followed her in and began shutting the iron door behind them. A slow metallic groan echoed throughout the underground complex, and the nearby torches erupted into wavy pillars of blue flame. The loud 'clank' of a locking door followed shortly thereafter.

As they walked, side by side, Azula spoke, "Perhaps, but some do not share your opinion, while others cannot share your opinion."

"Ursa?" she asked, as they passed near a blue-hued torch.

Azula sighed in exasperation. "Ursa still needs time. She needs to be away from here, the competition, and the games. If she remains here, she will turn out like him," Azula looked towards her, and stated bluntly, "You know who I mean."

Mai nodded her response. _'Ozai,'_ she thought.

Azula nodded in acknowledgment, before she spoke, "Fortunately, at the moment of her departure, she was more Stannis, than my father. However, I was beginning to see the cracks. I saw the monster lurking underneath."

 _'I saw it too,'_ Mai thought in agreement.

Azula laughed bitterly, "Now I sound like my mother."

"What?" Mai asked in confusion, as their steps reverberated throughout the empty halls.

"It's nothing, forget I said that, "Azula replied. "As I was saying, Ursa needs room to grow. The type of growth to be found here will not be the type of growth I wish her to have. Too many of my own people would swim around her like sharks, feeding her lies, inflating her ego, making her feel above them all. They would seek to undermine me and use her to their advantage. Once I die, she needs to be ready, or her rule will collapse, and she would follow me to the grave."

"So you send her to one of the most inhospitable, and isolated regions in Westeros?" Mai questioned, before shrugging her shoulders, "That is quite some room to grow."

"Yes," Azula answered bluntly. "Sometime in the presence of noble, honorable, people like the Starks may do her some good. She must learn to temper her passions with focus. The seclusion will give her time to think, to reflect on herself, and hopefully make her less likely to become like my father."

 _'Self-reflection was never one of Azula's strong points,'_ Mai thought, before she added, "You want her to be like Zuko?"

Azula glared at her, before stating gravely, "If the Targaryens have proven anything, it's that mad, cruel rulers, do not last long. If by some fluke, they manage to not get killed, they make their successor waste their entire rule cleaning up their predecessor's messes. The Targaryens lasted a mere three-hundred years. In comparison, the Firenation and my ancestors, lasted nearly five-thousand, give or take a few centuries. After all that I have read of them; Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, Aerys the Mad, I have come to realize that my father would have fit right in with them,"Azula paused, staring forward, before speaking, "Ozai the Merciless they might have called him, had he been sent here instead of me. He would have trampled over everyone, and botched any attempts at negotiation. He would not have accepted speaking to anyone as an equal, and he would have made sure all knew so. My father would have expended the small advantage he would have held, with his benders, by waging war against the whole of Westeros. Make no mistake, he would have burned half of it down during his war, but he would have ultimately died a sad, lonely death as he was hunted down." She and Azula shared glances before Azula responded to her earlier question, "And Zuko, he would have been just as bad. He was always too indecisive, too honorable, and too weak. He would have stalled in negotiations, unsure of what to do. My uncle, foolish and old as he was, may have helped him, but it may not have mattered. He may have sided with the rebels, but he would have been far too kind to wage the type of war, this world called for."

 _'If I had come with him, perhaps he would have fared better?'_ Mai thought sadly. She knew Azula spoke true, but she could not bear to accept it.

She heard Azula exhale, and saw the azure flames lower in intensity, before speaking, "If you had come with him," Mai cast a surprised glance towards Azula. In the blue gloom, Mai was unsure, but she could have sworn that Azula's eyes glistened as she spoke. "You would have at least made his short life a bit better."

They walked in silence, before Azula shattered it, resuming her previous conversation on Ursa and the Starks. "The Starks provide useful, controllable allies, and if Ursa can manage to capture the Stark heir, then all the better. Especially considering the Starks themselves are one of the few houses to have lasted longer than the Firenation has existed."

"Capture? You mean wed?" Mai questioned, as they moved past an open metal door. The door led into a dimly lit room lined with candles. Inside, Mai caught a glimpse of several of Xai Bau's disciples engaged in meditation. All sat across from each other, upon the carpeted floor, with their legs crossed. The lone figure of the Red Priestess, Cyvia, stood off to the side, observing the event.

 _'I don't trust that woman,'_ came the disquieting thought, as Mai walked past.

"Capture? Wed? It's the same thing," Azula laughed, though Mai could tell the previous conversation had somewhat shaken her. They continued walking down the blue-hued corridor. "Mai? Did you know that Ursa is considered powerful for her age?"

"I've heard many in the academy say so, yes," she responded. _'Especially after Chang,'_ she thought.

"Did you know that she may even be more powerful than I was?"

Mai blinked in surprise.

"A mother should be proud, but truthfully, I don't know how I feel about that," Azula confessed, looking towards the smooth stone wall. "A part of me _is_ proud of her," she continued, "another sees her as a threat, and the other fears for her." She began dragging her hand across it as they walked, deep in contemplation. "Had she been born a thousand, maybe two-thousand years from now, after the Firenation had secured itself. I may have allowed her to become more like my father. However, I have had much time to compare myself to him. A comparison, you will note, which mired the first ten years of my rule in endless debate. Though that is beside the point," she said, before continuing, as they neared a corner and turned left. "Cruelty and aggression have their places, and Ursa has some of it. She wants to become like me, and as such, she wishes to emulate the examples I have set forth. Unfortunately, I have come to recognize that I may have slipped up on this during my first few years, but somehow, luck managed to intervene, to make me seem less monstrous. You and I both know the monster is still there, coiled around my heart. It's similar to Ursa's, but whereas Ursa's is caged, wanting to be free, mine is tame, and it only emerges when I beckon."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Mai responded, as they continued down the corridor.

"You can thank Stannis for that, by the way. He is hopelessly loyal to me, but he stands his ground when he disagrees. It would be endearing if it wasn't so annoying," Azula stated. "Ursa needed to be dealt with swiftly, strongly, and harshly. I had to show her the monster, as it was the only thing she would understand. The only thing she would accept, for being essentially banished to the North."

"You could have simply told her, given her comfort as a mother should," Mai suggested.

"No, I could not have. She would have either seen it as weakness or a test. Neither of which I cared to lure Ursa into thinking. I have no doubt she may resent me, for a time, but hopefully the North calms her." Azula turned towards her, "That being said, I still wish her to retain some aggression, some cruelty, but not overwhelmingly so. I do not wish to see it atrophy completely."

"How will you do that?" she asked, as several doors opened and clanged shut far in the darkness.

Azula paused, "If everything proceeds as planned, then," she turned towards her, "a war will be coming. And if the lines remain drawn as they are, then I fully expect Ursa to march into it."

"War?" Mai questioned in reserved panic. "What are you planning?"

"Not here," Azula warned, "We will speak once we get to my office. Just know that I chose to send her to the north not only for the seclusion and possible marriage alliance. But because I have read many things about the houses and Lords of the North, and discovered that there is one amongst them that may prove to be a worthy advisor and ally."

"Who do you mean?" Mai asked before a loud inhuman scream reverberated throughout the blue-hued halls. Heavy footfalls were heard echoing in the distance, along with the distinct clanking of armor plate. Just under the noise caused by whatever large armored form stalked these passages, a faint sound of lighter hurried footsteps could be heard, along with ragged breathing.

"How do I get the fuck out of here?!" Mai heard a man shout deep in the shadowy corridors, before the loud clanging grew louder, and caused the man to curse and flee deeper into the caverns.

"Not now!" Azula roared, "Take him back to the pens and leave him there until I get to my office!"

She heard the passages quiet before a metal door groaned open. Down in the dark, somewhere, the light voice of Qyburn echoed within the caverns, "Beg your pardon, Firelord! He will be apprehended immediately!"

The clanging resumed, and the lighter footfalls began to pace in a terrified panic. "Who was that? Where the fuck are you!? Get me out! Please!"

Soon the clanging grew louder, and the lighter feet scuttled back and forth, before what sounded like an oar, sliced through the air, and silenced the man. A lifeless body could be heard collapsing onto the floor.

 _'I would be horrified if I wasn't used to it by now,'_ Mai thought. "Who was he?" she asked.

"Judging by his screams, I think his name was Vargyros 'the Babyeater.' A Myrish pirate I captured during the Stepstones campaign," Azula replied.

"Any truth to the title?" Mai asked curiosity getting the better of her.

"Perhaps. Do you want a lie or the truth?" Azula inquired.

"Nevermind," Mai responded.

"Fair enough," she said, as they turned a corner and entered a hallway of red torchlight, leading towards a heavy set of dual iron doors. Several hooded red robed figures, armored Flameguard, and Firenation troopers milled around speaking to one another and crossing into adjacent rooms. As the red flames, suddenly flared blue, all within stood at attention, kneeling, bowing, or presenting flame. She heard Azula sigh in exasperation, before she clasped her hands behind her back, and strode forwards. After passing the individuals gathered within the hall, they reached the large doors, emblazoned with the Firelord sigil of the five-pronged flame. Azula turned back, "At ease!" she commanded, and all present resumed their conversations, albeit quieter than they had been beforehand. Mai saw Azula get into her bending stance, causing her to step back. A few moments later, crackling blue energy began to form around Azula, before she pointed four fingers, the index and middle finger of each hand, towards the door, unleashing a powerful torrent of lightning, far stronger than Mai had remembered. Mai shielded her eyes, as the energy arced across the face of the large doors, before the Firelord sigil clicked and caused the large doors to groan open.

As they entered the pitch black study, ten hooded figures were partially illuminated by the lighting, in the hall, outside. The figures were clad in torn cloaks, frayed at their bases, with dark dressings stitched in swirling patterns, covering their legs. All had their swords drawn, and were silent as the grave, save for the slight sound of rattling chains. Azula stuck her left hand forward, and a calming blue light erupted from the formerly cold and until torches lining the walls, and central pathway. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the forms of the figures became clear. Their faces were hidden behind seemingly porcelain masks, divided in design. The right part of the masks were dark gray, with a silvery curved design, traced in deep black lines, towards the top right of it. The left side of the masks were white as snow, with a large portion of the left side of it, tracing a dark gray, smoky design. _'The Kemurikage,'_ Mai silently muttered to herself, as they sheathed their weapons under their cloaks. _'Legends from the Firenation, which Azula had brought to life,'_ she thought. These ten women had all been former red priestesses who had wholly devoted themselves to Azula. They had all followed the example of Talana, Acolyte of the Red Temple of Volantis, wife of Xai Bau, and mother of Jun, who shortly after the Greyjoy Rebellion had taken ill with a fever. She had been near death when she had reportedly convinced her husband of wishing to continue serving the Lord's chosen. Her mind had still been hers when Xai Bau had finally given her over to Qyburn. When Qyburn had finished, he had claimed her to be his best work. She, and 'the Kemurikage' who followed her carried themselves with a keen intelligence not shown thereafter with 'the Repurposed.' The ruby-powered glamours that allowed for disguising an individual were later found to work on them, masking their deathly pale skin, and milky white eyes. Xai Bau and Cyvia believed that their faith in R'hllor had allowed for this and that it kept their minds from dissolving completely. Azula did not believe so, but she had once spoken to her on how Xai Bau had hidden the truth of his wife's fate from their daughter, Jun.

As the door shut behind them, Mai marveled at the room. The Kemurikage remained motionless, their gaze fixed on her, as she followed Azula along the central, carpeted pathway. To either side of them, were richly carved wooden desks, and against the walls were towering bookshelves, spaced out evenly between the torches lining the partitions. This study had once been the main meeting place for all within the caverns before the expansion. The expansion had seen the addition of sleeping quarters, the meditation hall, cells, and the central hall where food was served and discussions held. Her study, which had also been expanded to house more than forty or so people, was now, curiously, only reserved for her closest allies, of which Mai counted herself among. The only way in or out, which Mai knew of, was through the large main doors, which required lightning bending to open. However, she was sure Azula had a secret way of exiting the room should bending not be an option. As she looked up, she noticed that the formerly jagged ceiling of volcanic rock and glass had been covered over with flat stone, and was held up by ornately designed stone pillars, carved with Firenation designs. Between the pillars hung pristine, and vividly colored Firenation banners of the three-pronged, teardrop flame. _'Those are new,'_ Mai thought, as she looked ahead to where Azula's office was, and saw the large painted portrait of Azula, above the doorway, staring down at them. As she turned her head back towards the direction they came, she saw the massive banner of the Baratheons of Dragonstone, 'the Burning Stag,' hanging above the entrance.

"Do you know the meaning of the word opulence?" Mai asked, in jest, though her face wouldn't show it.

Azula stopped walking, and turned towards her with a smirk. "What can I say? I _am_ still royalty, no matter what those fools at King's Landing say."

They continued walking, getting closer towards Azula's office, before a table to her right, and a large, cloth-covered, chair to her left, caught her attention. The table held several jars of partially burnt organs, and weighted down parchments detailing human physiology, on it. Azula seemed to have noticed the distraction, and preempted the imminent question. "I've had Qyburn and Sanro study the remains of the pirates Steffon was found with."

"What did they find?" she asked, as they stopped near the table.

"Nothing definitive, only that the internal organs, of one of them, held burns at certain points," Azula replied.

"Burns?" she questioned.

"Yes, and from what they tell me, suffering those injuries is enough to drive someone mad with excruciating pain," Azula stated.

"Can Steffon bend?" had come the immediate and reflexive question. Ideas started flooding Mai's mind, of what that meant for Ursa and the budding Firenation. _'If it proved true,_ s _he may decide to challenge it,'_ Mai thought, _'as she would likely not accept all of her preparation, at Azula's hand, having been for nothing. If Steffon simply came in and took the crown of Firelord away from her, well...'_ As much as Mai disliked choosing between Azula's children, she trusted Steffon more in the position of Firelord, than Ursa.

"I am unsure," Azula responded, "the bodies held no outward traces of burns, only cuts, stabs, and bruises. I had only asked for a few specimens to be sure, and only one of the ten I brought back with me, showed these internal burns. Normally I would have dismissed this ratio as nothing more than a coincidence, had it not been for the fact that the burns reeked of wildfire."

"Wildfire?" she asked, her monotone voice hiding her shock.

"That is what I said, and it only serves to bring in more questions than answers," Azula spoke, seemingly shaken by the revelation. "Enough of this," Azula declared, "Steffon is not why I brought you here."

Mai dropped the subject as they both turned to resume their walk to Azula's office. Both of them looked forward and laid eyes on the large, cloth-covered, chair. Before Mai could recover from the previous conversation, to ask of the chair, Azula spoke, "It is a pet project of mine, leave it be."

She looked towards it, hearing Azula's dismissal of it, and she came to a realization, that had taken her far too long to realize as Azula's closest friend, _'It's a throne.'_

As they neared the smaller, steel door, emblazoned with the Firelord sigil with a hole at its center, Azula entered into her bending stance, and Mai backed away. As before, blue energy hissed and crackled around Azula before she unleashed it into the small opening at the center of the door. Several clicks were heard as the energy dissipated, and the door opened, revealing the lone, hooded, figure of Talana, the first Kemurikage. In her hands, drawn against them, was 'Scarred Brother,' Azula's Valyrian steel sword. Talana's cloak, unlike the rest of the Kemurikage, was untouched, with no tears. It was a perfect flowing cloak, dark as night, with a slight sheen rippling through it, like waves in the pale moonlight. Her mask, unlike the others, bore the Firelord's sigil, which wrapped around both sides of it. The surrounding space, between the golden prongs of the flame, was deep black. The shadow cast by the hood, and the dark hue of the mask, hid the openings for her eyes. Azula raised her hands, and as she had done at the main entrance to the study, she caused the room to flare into life. The torch stands, surrounding Azula's sumptuously designed desk, bathed the room in a brilliant blue light. Talana knelt, and presented 'Scarred Brother,' to Azula. She lifted it up by the handle, placing it upon the wall, where a rack, and its sister sword, 'Nameless,' awaited it. Azula's husband, Lord Stannis, had refrained from naming the sword Azula had gifted him, and as a result, Azula had taken to calling it 'Nameless.' Stannis had not been pleased, but he had suffered it all the same. He had not trusted King's Landing enough to take the sword with him, and had instead entrusted it to Azula for safekeeping. As soon as the weapon was secured, Azula moved to sit in her chair, while Mai moved to sit on her own. Talana stood, and affixed herself to Azula's side. Her dark cloak completely concealed her form, and the ethereal blue lighting made her seem spirit-like.

As she and Azula sat down, Azula drew a roll of parchment from the side of her desk, and held it up towards her. "Here, take this," she said.

Mai reached for it, "What is it?" she asked, looking towards Azula, and waiting for acknowledgment that she was allowed to open it. Azula nodded, and Mai unfurled the crisp piece of parchment. As Mai read its contents, she could not understand what it meant.

"It names you as my word and will, for the Firenation of Dragonstone," she stated, "You will have my authority when dealing with my citizens. You will retain your position as overseer, but your role, and the expectations I have of you will be expanded."

Mai looked at her, and back down towards the scroll of parchment.

"You are free to decline, of course," Azula said, voice stuttering slightly at the statement, "but I can think of no others I would rather have as my representative here on Dragonstone."

"I will not decline," she said, and noticed Azula exhale slightly in relief, "But why? Where are you going?"

"To King's Landing," Azula replied, speaking with greater confidence than she had been only moments ago. "There are some...personal matters I must attend to."

She placed the parchment on the desk, "What would you have me do?"

"Simple matters, I assure you," Azula said.

 _'Nothing is ever simple with you,'_ Mai thought.

"Just oversee the completion of 'the Azula,' keep the Academy running smoothly, the usual things you have normally been doing," Azula continued.

"If it is the 'usual things' I have been doing then why even bother with something so formal?" she asked.

"Because, while I am away, you may have to _deal_ with traitors, and you know how I like my traitors dealt with?" Azula replied, her chair creaking slight as she shifted her weight back, to recline, and crossed her arms.

 _'Overseeing executions and torture?'_ Mai thought, and despite her earlier statement of not declining, she began to reconsider.

As if sensing her doubt, Azula clarified, "Chang. Watch him, and his son."

"Chang?" she asked, the surprise evident in her eyes.

"The old man, no doubt, still harbors a grudge against me for declining his hand in favor of Stannis," Azula stated, "and declining offers of his son to wed Ursa."

"If you suspected treachery, why have you waited so long to respond?" she asked, genuinely surprised at that fact.

Azula gave her a look before her body reared forward with arms uncrossed. She lay her arms to rest on the surface of the ornate desk, and declared, "Yes, as if I was not preoccupied with two wars, assassination attempts, unruly bannermen who I had to bring to heel, and the constant probing of Dragonstone by enemy spies?"

She crossed her arms, mirroring Azula's earlier position, and replied with a look of her own.

"Look, the man is useful as an instructor, and he is not stupid. He would never openly move against me, nor against the interests of the Firenation. However, the plans I will be pursuing in King's Landing may leave my position vulnerable to usurpation," Azula stated gravely.

She relaxed her arms, and saw the look in Azula's eyes. "What do you think may happen to you?"

"There is a chance, however small, that I may perish during my efforts in King's Landing," Azula uttered. "If I do, then you must secure Ty Lee, and prevent the old fool, or his whelp, from getting their hands on her."

"Azula, I…" she began before Azula cut her off.

"Let me finish," Azula ordered, "You will not be alone in this. As great a following as Takkar has formed in the Academy, the majority of them are only doing so under Steffon's orders."

 _'Keep your friends close, and your enemies, even closer,'_ Mai thought.

"You will also find an ally in Cyvia, who somehow discovered Chang's dormant ambition, and warned me, without me having uttered a word."

 _'Oh great,'_ Mai thought to herself, the words Cyvia had spoken to her, three years ago, still echoing in her mind.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 6/2/294 AC) Mai I

"Everyone is what they are, and where they are, for a reason. Terrible things, happen for a reason. Take what happened to you, Lady Mai, when you were a child. You were an only child for thirteen years. You had whatever you wanted, as long as you behaved," Cyvia stated, as she and Mai stood alone, outside Azula's audience chamber. Cyvia was looking her square in the eyes, as she spoke, after Mai had made her feelings of mistrust, towards Cyvia, known. "Your childhood made you distant, and your anger at your life made you develop great skills. These skills drew her, the Lord's chosen, to you," Cyvia's eyes entranced her own, and she did not flinch as Cyvia reached out with her left hand, to hold Mai's hand in her own. "What was it your friend said to you?" Cyvia's free hand caressed Mai's cheek, "Promise me you will take care of her. You are all she has left of her old life and she can't do it without you?" She stared at Cyvia, the shock welling up in her eyes and chest. Cyvia cast an unnervingly serene smile at her before uttering, "We serve the same Firelord. If you are her true friend, you have nothing to fear from me." Cyvia lowered her hands, and walked away with nary a sound.


	10. (The Grove) Xai Bau I

(King's Landing: _Grove of the Burning Tree_ : 12/30/297 AC) Xai Bau I

' _This place is growing_ ,' Xai Bau thought, as he surveyed his meager surroundings. ' _Where once there had been a single glowing flame atop a withering bush, surrounded by darkness,_ ' he observed in satisfaction, ' _had become an inferno, forever burning, atop an ever-growing tree.'_ A white dragon bush had grown and, surprisingly, three spirits had come to populate this small island of light. Where the spirits had come from, he held no clue. However, he thought, ' _they were welcome companions compared to what hid in the darkness_. _Two old snakes and a buttermoth._ ' The twin snakes rested alongside the burning tree, hissing at each other, in a discussion only they could discern. Sometimes the snakes would turn, while deep in gossip, and ask him to "go away." They would then casually return to hissing at each other. The first time they had spoken to him had surprised the man. So much so, that the former captain of 'the Ozai' thought himself going mad. As the snakes argued, a small pink buttermoth fluttered around the white dragon bush. _'I'm sure Iroh would have appreciated that bush,'_ came his thought as he glanced at the red and white flowers of the small piece of shrubbery. The light, from the burning tree, illuminated a small area around it, large enough to fit a group of twenty people, but no more. _'How fitting,'_ he snorted. From the entire crew of the Ozai, only Lee had been willing to learn the act of meditation, from him. Commander Lee sought peace from the life he left behind and a meaning to the new life that had been forced upon him. ' _A noble cause,_ ' thought Xai Bau. ' _The memories of the family that he had been torn away from, would always haunt him._ '

Xai Bau did hold faith in the newer generation of Firenation citizens and mixed bloods. Westrosi lacked the ability to enter the spirit world, and he held that it was either because whatever spirituality they held was long dead, or that they were simply not from his world. The mixed bloods were a different story, however, and they did not have the sterile upbringing of the original crew. Mixed bloods, and the trueborn children of Firenation parentage were allowed a small modicum of freedom in expression and exploration of their spirit. Even so, the dedication and focus necessary was beyond many of them, save eleven possibly twelve of them. Of the twelve, three had been of keen interest to him; Steffon, Ty Lee, and his own daughter Jun.

When the crew of the Ozai had first arrived, Xai Bau had been caught up in Azula's ascension to Firelord. He was sure the Firelord remembered, what he had done, but it hardly mattered to her now. It had been a simple 'mistake' to 'accidentally' reveal what the true status of the Exiled Prince and the Dragon of the West was to be aboard the barge, fifteen years ago. The man had known Iroh for being a leading member of the White Lotus. Whether or not Iroh had identified him, as a fellow White Lotus member, was open to debate. Needless to say, it had taken Xai Bau no small amount of courage to speak the word 'prisoners' when welcoming Prince Zuko and Iroh aboard. The spirits had been watching out for him that day, as the Prince had pushed him overboard. The Princess had been so incensed at her defeat against the Old General, that when the man from the order of the White Lotus finally came back aboard, she had simply demoted him to a janitor. A dark chuckle escaped his lips.

Firelord Azula had planned and schemed to get into the good graces of the sovereign of this foreign land, King Robert Baratheon, and to gain position. The original purpose of the crew had been to not only keep Firelord Ozai's daughter safe but to keep an eye on her and deal with her if necessary. Ozai had been no fool, and he knew how dangerous his own daughter was. That was why only the most skilled of Firebenders and soldiers had been present onboard, along with the standard crewmen needed for ship maintenance. If Ozai had given the command, 'to subdue and detain, or eliminate,' the crew had been prepared to follow it. Truthfully, Xai Bau had been aboard, not only for his skill but to observe the Princess and make sure no harm came to the Avatar if he should be discovered in their travels. _'But now?'_ he thought to himself, _'Ozai was gone, the Avatar was gone, and only Azula remained.'_ A single fool from the original crew, Takumi, had seen this as an opportunity to become Firelord. He had issued a challenge for leadership, and demanded Agni Kai, to settle the dispute. Takumi had been a skilled bender, top of his class, and he served as an object lesson to the rest of the crew. A lesson which Firelord Azula explained over his charred corpse, "So long as I am your Firelord, treason shall never go unpunished!" No one, from her crew, had ever challenged her again. Nor did they ever entertain such madness again.

However, even in death, Takumi had done more damage to the Firelord's mind than he likely hadn't anticipated. Her mind had nearly torn at the seams, in paranoia, and her spirit had faltered. Eventually, she found some solace and support from the two girls that had accompanied her, and she dove further into the affairs of this world to distract herself. ' _The chaos of her mind prevents her from being here,_ ' he thought. Now, the only path before Firelord Azula, led forward, always forward. Xai Bau knew as he was sure she knew, that the Firelord could not afford to misstep. Not here. Not on this world, because it was unforgiving. Just then, he heard something in the blackness surrounding the grove, the monster that always seemed drawn to this place, its multiple eyes reflecting the light from the flames, and its cold breath bringing a chill to his heart. As he sat staring into the darkness, he remembered the phrase the Red Priestess, and her followers, would chant. "For the night is dark, and full of terrors."

"Still contemplating the nature of the world, Xai?" came a familiar voice, as the mysterious creature retreated back into the void.

"No, Prince Steffon, just watching the shadows," was his response, as he continued staring off into the dark.

"I am no Prince," the young man said, clad in an academy uniform of red, black, and gold. He sat down and crossed his legs.

"Not yet," he retorted, turning his head towards the speaker, and Prince Steffon twitched. "You are working towards deposing the false Prince, and his siblings. Are you not?" he spoke. Just as he had confided in the Prince about his allegiance to the White Lotus, so too had the Prince confided in him about the plans his mother had worked towards. Both statements were treasonous, and both could lead to death. Xai Bau, however, cared little for this world. He would not risk his life, and that of his daughter's, to tell the Queen, and Steffon cared too much to betray his trust and lose his spiritual teacher. _'He was an excellent student,'_ he thought, _'I had hoped to have the Firelord, herself, as my protégé. Her mind, however, proved too chaotic and her attentions were diverted elsewhere. Ursa was powerful but too focused on the physical world to ever truly achieve the peace of mind necessary to transcend. As for little Ty Lee, well, there was hope for her yet.'_

"Yes, but it does not taste well spilling forth from my mouth. Joffrey is a fool, and the Queen even more so, but the rest? Myrcella and Tommen? I know my mother, and she will not let them live. Even if my father was to show them mercy and have them keep their lives. She will not tolerate them living and remaining a threat to her rule. One carriage ride to the Wall or Casterly Rock? One tragic raid by 'bandits,' leaving no survivors." His shoulders slumped, but his eyes remained hard, glancing towards the ground.

"And still you follow her?" he questioned, looking towards his young student.

"She is my mother, she is my Firelord, and I have no other choice," he spoke in resignation, before looking up at him. "What am I to do? Betray my family? Risk their lives? Just because Cersei chose to bear her brother's children? Her children are innocent, yes, but so are my sisters. So is Margaery, my father, Theon, Kai, and all the men and women sworn to my father and mother. I will not betray them, to protect my honor. If I follow, then my mother has promised a minimal loss of innocent life. If I resist? She holds Margaery, and even though I have struggled to remain indifferent to her, my mother is nothing if not observant. It won't take much for her to discover the fondness I hold for Margaery, if she hasn't already, and squeeze me into submission." As the Prince spoke, the tiny, pink, buttermoth rested on his shoulder. The Prince reached over his shoulder and petted the spirits tiny, hairy, back with his index finger. After he lowered his hand back to his lap he resumed speaking his thoughts. "We have had these discussions before, Xai. Why do we always return to them?"

"Because they weigh down your spirit," he stated.

The Prince inhaled, and deflated as if preparing to respond before abandoning the subject entirely. "I am here to tell you, that my mother is planning to make her way to King's Landing. She wants to know what progress has been made in regards to the wildfire?"

Unsurprised by the sudden shift in topic, the wise man responded, "Much of the wildfire underneath the Red Keep, the Sept, and the Dragonpit has been removed and disposed of. It was difficult to move so little at a time, especially considering the amount of discomfort the strange liquid causes in benders. Not to mention having to evade the Queen's, Littlefinger's, and the Eunuch's army of informants."

"This is true, but you've had six years to see it done, not including the seven years prior to you being installed as overseer of this operation," said the Prince.

"The spirits watch over your mother, Prince Steffon. Had Firelord Azula and her royal guard not been present in the throne room, fifteen years ago, with King Robert and the rest, looking over the corpses of the royal family, she may not have been alerted to the strange liquid in enough time to have it removed."

"Yes, I was told the sickness was less than pleasant," Steffon replied, looking him in the eye.

(King's Landing: 11/22/283 AC) Xai Bau I

After the fall of King Aerys, and the sack of the capital, by Tywin Lannister and his son, Lord Stark had come to re-establish order to the broken city. Lord Stark had been incensed by the levels of chaos and death Tywin Lannister's betrayal had caused. This had been further fueled once he had been made aware of the brutal deaths of Rhaegar's wife and children. King Robert had arrived, along with an anxious Lord of the Vale, to survey the carnage. The Firelord, who had recently sunk the majority of the Royal Fleet at Dragonstone and prevented escape by sea, with the Ozai, arrived a short time later, her prisoner in tow, after the bodies of the former Princess Elia of Dorne and her children had been laid before the new King. History repeated itself, it seemed, as she commanded him, the former captain, to safely maneuver the Ozai into the harbor and dock. The Firelord entered the city of King's Landing, with her own guard, himself included. Her childhood friends had remained aboard the Ozai and during the entire march, up to the keep, he had felt himself grow queasy. At first, he thought it came from seeing the aftermath of the sack, and simply brushed it aside. The Firelord held a disgusted sneer on her face during the march, and truth be told, she looked somewhat less than intimidating with her fairly large belly. As they entered the Throne Room of the Red Keep, he felt nausea wash over him, saw others begin to sway, but they kept on, to present their prisoner.

The Firelord had not even glanced at the bodies covered in the crimson Lannister cloaks, before speaking and bending the knee as much as she could in her state, "Your Grace! I have sunk the royal fleet at Dragonstone on your command and laid waste to its defenders. Dragonstone is yours, as is the former prince, Viserys Targaryen." At that, the younger commander Lee kicked the scared child forward and lifted the black shroud covering his face. Then, without fanfare, they all keeled over in pain, and the Firelord emptied her stomach all over the stone floor, before collapsing. Two years after the incident, the Firelord had a handful of her R'hllor agents infiltrate King's Landing, and find out why King's Landing had made her and her benders ill. When they had finally deduced the ill feeling to be coming from Wildfire, the Firelord set out to find out where it was. Her red spies searched high and low, before discovering the first cache underneath the Dragonpit, and ultimately the large caches underneath the Red Keep and the Sept of Baelor.

(King's Landing: _Grove of the Burning Tree_ : 12/30/297 AC) Xai Bau I

' _The Firelord had been surprised, and had wondered who had ordered the creation of so much Wildfire, and for what purpose,'_ Xai Bau remembered.

After the discovery, the Firelord's spies had spoken to the pyromancers at the Alchemist's Guild in King's Landing, asking how to move Wildfire.

"That it was. Which it made it no easy task," he said, before the Prince spoke.

"Be thankful my mother had not considered you expendable enough to send you here until the work had already been half done."

"Thank the spirits for small favors," he said grimly before the clop of hooves and the fluttering of robes emerged from the darkness. Both snapped their heads towards the rustling sounds, unable to pierce the blackness surrounding their little island. They only saw the reflection of eight pairs of eyes staring back at them, seven were of pure shimmering light, while the eighth held a red, menacing glow.

"Hooves? It is the black goat," he said.

"Yes, and the shimmering eyes? It is the seven," said the Prince in a dark tone.

"The flame draws them to this place, though they cannot enter, not while the fire burns," he muttered, letting the last part of his sentence to go unspoken.

"Not while the Firenation endures," the Prince said as if reading his thoughts.

The coldness returned and his hairs stood on end. He heard the hooves clatter, and the robes flutter, back into the abyss. A cold, heavy, breath reemerged from the darkness. "And that one. That one despises us…"

"It does," said the Prince.

"Perhaps this is not the time," he said, as he remembered the date, "but happy birthday." The Prince reacted with a surprised look.


	11. (Dragonstone) Lady Stork II

(Dragonstone: 1/1/298 AC) Lady Stork II

 _'Hmmm, she has redecorated,'_ the former mummer from Braavos, now royal body double, thought. The Firelord had summoned her, and the former maester, Qyburn, to her office beneath the Administration Building Complex. She had been sitting there long enough, that her mind began to wander. Over the last seven years since their first introduction, the Firelord had carved in and downwards, using her altered Tank-train, that allowed for a mounted drill-head, from a predetermined location within the Administration grounds. It had taken a little more than a year, after several 'technical difficulties' as her engineers had said, for the experimental design to make its way down to the caverns. What had taken longer, was construction of the lift, which had taken a rather large amount of men and materials to make for a 'quick lift,' as the Firelord had called it. Due to being who she was, the Firelord wanted expediency, and the utmost safety, when she deigned to descend into her inner sanctum. At the top of the lift, was a large steel covering which would slide open to allow for descent, or ascent from below. The covering was disguised, on the opposite side, as a large thick, circular, rug bearing the Firenation sigil. It was housed within the Firelord's royal apartment building, which itself was the most heavily guarded building on the Island. It was located close enough towards the Academy barracks to allow for a quick response if the Firelord needed assistance below.

In addition to the lift, a central hall, and several large rooms had been added to the underground facilities since. A meditation room, complete with small, adjacent, quarters, had been constructed to house and train the acolytes of 'the Order of the Burning Tree.' She was still unsure of how their meditation worked, and neither the Acolytes nor the the Firelord had been forthcoming with information. As curious as she was, she knew not to begin asking questions, or the Firelord would grow suspicious. If it concerned her position as Royal double, then the Firelord would tell her. If it did not, then "stay silent," she would say. The large study outside of the Firelord's office was expanded and could now house twice as many people as it had before, with several rooms having been added in the dim, underground, halls to allow the red priests and priestesses their own living room, away from prying eyes.

However, by far the 'greatest' additions to the caverns, were the holding cells from where the old Maester would 'recruit' men for his experiments. The cells, currently overflowing with recent pirate prisoners from the Stepstones campaign, were damp, confined little spaces, in near pitch black lighting. There were enough of them to hold upwards to nearly three hundred poor souls. They were fed the barest of sustenance, given thin sheets that seemed unlikely to keep away the cold, and they were always watched by the Maester's creations.

' _The old man held the title 'Master of Medicine,' within the Grand Academy, but if people knew the truth,'_ Lady Stork thought, casting a sideward glance towards the man sitting beside her, head buried in a book, _'they would call him the 'Maker of Monsters.''_

The only silver lining for the prisoners was that the Firelord did not want them dying of infection or cold, and would provide a time where a 'cleaner' would arrive to spray them down with a warm jet of water and provide fresh clothing, in addition to a single time a day to relieve oneself in the privy. Escapes were sometimes allowed to occur, to blood the newest batches of the Maester's 'Repurposed men.'

As she continued staring at Qyburn, and the illustrations within the book, one of the last being of a forehead with some form of an eye, tattooed, in its center, did Lady Stork finally asked, "What are you reading Qyburn?"

"Oh!" he chuckled in surprise as only a 'kindly' old man could. "It is a fascinating book, gifted to me from her royal majesty, the Firelord," he looked towards Azula, and her eyes followed.

The Firelord was still focused on whatever she was writing, when they had entered, or attempting to write. She appeared to be trying to mimic a form of hand, found on a separate sheet of parchment, to one she had before her, with varying degrees of success. She tried to get a better look at the signature, on the original copy of parchment, seeing the letters "Pe" cut off towards the bottom, before the Firelord spoke, startling the Royal double.

"You are being nosy again, Lady Stork," the Firelord uttered, without raising her head.

She tried to quickly recover, preparing her response, before the Firelord added, "I was not finished yet."

Lady Stork remained silent, hands at her lap. At the corner of her eye, she noticed Qyburn, finally set down his book, but not before marking where he had left off.

"Judging by what you just saw, without looking back down at what I am doing, what did you see?" the Firelord questioned. "Qyburn, keep an eye on her and make sure her eyes do not wander back towards me until she answers the question."

She heard Qyburn shift to her side, causing her to gaze upwards towards the black stone ceiling. "You are trying to mimic the hand of another," she stated, and the Firelord remained silent, as a signal for her to continue. "To send false correspondence, and perhaps conflicting commands?"

"You are observant and quick in the art of deduction. That is good. However," the Firelord stated, "you still lack the patience I can be known to exhibit. Though to be fair, you did last an hour and a half this time, as opposed to last time's forty-three minutes. Bravo." She continued, looking down at her parchment, writing down another line, this one closer to the target hand than the last.

She was set to ask, 'How?' but knew the Firelord was formulating her own response.

"It was your breathing. You can always tell when someone begins to focus," she finally said, head still down, hand still writing. "It's a minor detail you need work on, but nothing catastrophically bad. At least, not for the mission I have planned for you and Qyburn."

She heard the seat to her left creak, as Qyburn straightened himself up, with her quickly following.

"As you well know, we recently had some problems, involving pirates," the Firelord began. "What you do not know is that, while the pirates were an unforeseen development, my son's involvement in the subsequent campaign was not accidental. For I had intended for him to earn his knighthood, and this provided an opportunity. However," she finally set her quill down, and looked at them, "my husband chose to be unreasonable. So I had to create an opening for Steffon to exploit, without his knowledge, in gaining passage aboard the 'Firestorm.' I knew Steffon was skilled and hungered to prove his worth," as she spoke, the Firelord turned, and glanced towards the portrait of the family she forged with Lord Stannis. Lady Stork's eyes followed her. Like the boy in the portrait of her family from childhood's past so too did the young boy in her current family portrait, hold a small warm smile. In a sea of stern faces, only his face, and the face of the bubbly youth, Ty Lee Baratheon, stood out. The eldest Baratheon daughter, Ursa, remained emotionless as if carved from stone. Lady Stork saw the Firelord shake herself out of her own thoughts, before clearing her throat, and continuing. "More importantly, I also knew the King would wish to knight my son, himself," she turned back towards them. "Therefore, the King would need my son to go to King's Landing, and I would not need to expose myself too soon. Before we disembarked from the Stepstones, I gave my son a message to pass on to Lord Arryn. A message which, given recent developments within King's Landing, has proven to have had the intended consequences. As such, the time for the Firelord to make her return to King's Landing, is finally at hand."

' _She has a knack for the theatrical, she would have made for quite the mummer,'_ Lady Stork thought.

"I have begun preparations to make our way to King's Landing, and we set sail, in nine days," she proclaimed.

' _Nine days?!'_ she thought in brief surprise, not letting the surprise come to her eyes.

"When we arrive, Lady Stork," the Firelord continued, "we will arrive as each other. You will be me, and I will be you," she cast a quick look towards Qyburn, "and you will stay the same." The Firelord rose from her ornate desk, and searched through the bookshelf behind her, before choosing a large, well-bound, black book. "This," she slammed the book down, "is a series of notes, describing locations you both are to visit, individuals you are to speak to, questions you are to ask, and paths you are to take while in King's Landing. While Lady Stork bears my likeness, I don't want either of you leaving each other's sights. Qyburn?"

"Yes, Firelord?" the elderly man responded in a quick bow of his head.

"Do you still have the short list I had you make a few days ago? Of the 'Repurposed' you have ready?" she demanded.

"Yes, my Firelord," he replied, "they are in my quarters."

"Pick two of the most capable," the Firelord ordered, "and make them ready for the trip. For they will be your shadows," she stared at her and Qyburn, before continuing. "I do not want either of you to enter or even go anywhere near Xai Bau's tea shop. Especially you," the Firelord pointed at her, "while you are wearing my mask. You, Lady Stork, will be sharing quarters with my husband to keep up appearances. Rest assured he knows you will be in disguise, and I will come relieve you of your duties nightly, so you do not find yourself in a compromising situation. Not that my husband is a man prone to blind passion, or any such nonsense, like his brother, but as his wife, I'd rather not leave him alone with another woman at night. Qyburn, my spies have secured some modest quarters for you, at an Inn within Eel Alley, on Visenya's Hill. When you are not me, Lady Stork, do not seek Qyburn out. That goes double for you, Qyburn," she looked towards the old maester. "And if you two should happen upon each other during those times when I have no pressing need of you, do not be seen walking together or speaking together, unless she bears my likeness and can either bend or has your two shadows. Is all of this clear?" the Firelord demand.

"Yes, my Firelord," she and Qyburn responded in unison.

"Good, research the notes I have given you, and remember, we have nine days. Oh! And Qyburn?"

"Yes, my Firelord?" he asked.

"Leave a list with your disciples on which ones are ready and which are not. At last count, I seem to remember there being around thirty being combat capable, correct?" she asked rhetorically.

Lady Stork knew the Firelord was never one lacking in information. When she asked, she asked to see if your information held any discrepancies with her own up to date information. When she asks in surprise, she does so to lower your guard. _'She was good,'_ Lady Stork thought, _'and she taught me well, but I am not arrogant enough to assume she taught me everything she knew. Seven hells, I'm not even sure the few 'tells' I managed to divine from her were genuine or just meant to make her think she identified them. Damn you…'_ she let out a mental chuckle.

"Yes, my Firelord, thirty exactly," Qyburn stated proudly.

"Before you leave, tell your students to raise that number to sixty. We have full cells, at the moment, so let's make use of them," the Firelord instructed.

"By your will, Firelord," he responded serenely.

"Well, we all have preparations to make, before we leave. You are both dismissed," she commanded.


	12. (The Shadow City) Asha III

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

(The Shadow City, Dorne : 298AC) Asha III(by sensfan90)

The town under the walls of Sunspear was always beautiful in late summer. The heat had dissipated just enough for the people to enjoy long full days in the sun, the waters of the Greenblood keeping the air cool enough to truly enjoy it. The terrace she chosen to rendezvous in also gave them a rather stunning set of flowing tapestries to appreciate. Baelor and Botley seemed to be enjoying it all at the very least, her mind was focused elsewhere.

"Still reading the _textbook_ Lady Greyjoy?" Baelor to his eternal credit read the book once and knew exactly what she found interesting but even he did not grasp it fully like she did. Not surprising, revolution was an anti-thesis to the religion of the Seven.

"My n'uncle taught me to know my allies and enemies as I know myself. What a mother teaches to their son and daughter can tell me quite a bit indeed." It had taken quite a bit of gold and favors to sneak this particular piece from the Scorching Bear Academy but it was worth it. If she had any doubt that Lord Stark was unaware of what was truly being taught in his land she did now. For a tool to teach basic numbers and letters it was remarkably subversive if not outright treasonous in its prose. A part of her wanted to see a Drowned Man read it and cry blasphemy, well the ones that could actually read at any rate. And of course that was the other thing, subtly or not the Fire Nation was not nearly as similar to Westeros in government as some believed. The smallfolk had remarkably more power than she would ever have guessed, though this was balanced out by the Firelord having a near total monopoly on dividing force and administration. No wonder she seemed to be a shepherd of an ever growing flock, you would find no better place for a peasant than Dragonstone. Well at least as long as she considered you part of her flock.

"I see the squids have made themselves at home." Closing the book she turned her full attentions toward her guests. Obara Sand, a muscled and mannish woman who favored her fathers Rhyonar blood. Tyene Sand, a blond haired and blues eyed picture of innocence who favored her fathers loved of poison and foul potion. Behind her was the young woman she came for, Princess Arianne and the future leader of Dorne. Clad in flowing orange and yellow silks set scandalously loose and wearing a flowery perfume which she could smell from across the room, the short but full figured Martell confidently approached. Ringlets of thick black hair and piercing eyes focused on her companions, pity for her Baelor had spent too much time in Oldtown as a hostage to trust a Dornishwoman and Botley never made it a secret of whom he had a fondness for once she became blooded. Sex and desire was not going to win her any battles in this room.

"Do you like the tapestries Lady Greyjoy, the seamstress is a personal favorite of House Martell. So many great battles and victories spun so elegantly." As Tyene continued to wax poetic and threaten her over the art the Princess casually seated herself close to the door. The Sand Snakes never allowing a clear angle of advance on their trueborn cousin. It seemed the Princess was more than silks and perfumes after all. She carefully had chosen where they would meet, how many guards to bring and she was perfectly aware the entrance to their little alcove was an inescapable ambush if she chose to run for reinforcements. It was impossible to say whether it was her idea or that of her more bloodthirsty cousins but the end result was the same. In Westeros being intelligent and being wise enough to listen to the intelligent thoughts of others was a necessary trait for survival. Her Uncle Victorian was pretty much the prime example of how far stupidity and lack of foresight could go when you had capable consul. Either way the heiress to Dorne had earned a point in her favor already.

"Lady Asha Greyjoy, what an unexpected pleasure."

"Princess Arianne Martell, the pleasure is all mine. I am sure you are curious as to why I contacted you in private."

"Indeed I was, how is one supposed to react when the Lady of Pyke speaks in shadows and whispers. It raises all sorts of delightful ideas and questions."

"Scandalous ones cousin, should we not inform the king?"

"Or perhaps feed her to the butcher." She ignored the subtle threats of Obara and Tyene Sand with hardly a glance. For all their faith in the teachings and blood of their father she gathered neither had even a quarter of her experience in truly lethal combat. Besides her business was far more important than wiping the smug grins off their half born faces.

"Several moons ago I sailed the Sunset Sea into the Bay of Ice, it was a startling change to see."

"You speak of Lyanna's Bay I take it? The _great harbor_ the King has seen to building in the frozen North in honor of his lost love? Or is the interesting words of a revitalized Bear Island?" Despite the flippant tone Arianne had obviously understood what she meant, good no need to circle the point.

"Bear Island is slowly turning into a fortress and the lands of Sea Dragon Point are already a snowy maze of stone and steel. Despite thousands of years of existence preceding it I can confidently say it already has a fiercer surrounding than any strip of land in the Iron Islands. I can only imagine what Lady Azula has done with the already considerable features of Dragonstone. Three Iron Vessels patrol its waters with a fourth rumored to be ready."

"Ah squid we snakes fear no stags freezing in the North."

"Besides was not the land granted to Lord Xie, now of House Mormont because your family was overly treacherous? House Martell is at peace with his grace, why ever would we be in terror of its well-deserved construction?"

"Obara, Tyene do not be rude. Asha Greyjoy does not speak without merit." Smirking impishly at their dismissal it was obvious the two Sands were not as versed in Dornish politics as they believed. Four ships meant the Butcher could strike the Daynes, Blackmonts, Ullers, Martells and Yronwoods simultaneously. Or perhaps the Wyls, Gargalen and Tolands to in order to isolate House Martell from Red Mountain families. Most of the towns and villages may be beyond the Butchers raiders but not the river fed crops and precious supplies of fish. Far from a minor blow to their armies in battle it was disastrous for their ability to take even the field. A desert kingdom was a double edged sword, what fresh water land you had must be protected at all cost.

"Tell me Lady Greyjoy, have actually fought against these new designs? The Marchers Lords claim it was largely out of surprise and dishonorable tactics but the sailors I have met claim it was cold and brutal slaughter."

"I sailed with my father when the rebellion broke out. We never left Pyke so I did not see the fight firsthand. Still in the beginning we did not believe the ravens, the entire Iron Fleet eradicated at Seagard? But then the survivors limped back into the Iron Islands and it was no deception. Hulls which split battle tested ships with ease, speed which made outrunning them impossible. Part of me still thought it all a grand tale to hide incompetence and cowardice until my uncles and brothers never returned in the week's afterword."

"Your weakness, not ours. The Dornish are not the Ironborn, we have never been conquered." Rolling her eyes she stared at Obara Sand, wondering how much the bastard really understood of the world. Was she as deadly as she claimed or was she merely a whore's daughter whose father fed her delusions of grandeur to cover up his own lack of restraint?

"History suggests otherwise or do you considered a summer of occupation a minor setback? Daeron brought you low and you won by assassination and trickery. Do you know the number of battles within the history books that speak of Dornish victory and staking land beyond the Red Mountains? Zero, you won against Daeron because the tenets of chivalry prevented the wholesale slaughter of your smallfolk in your rebellion. Oh and falling ass backwards into Baelor the Blessed being a peace loving nut. From what we know of the Butcher you will not have the chance a second time, or at all if the Reach and Stormlands remind her of it every time they can. You claim fifty thousand spears but when has anyone beyond a book ever seen such a thing?" Truly she did not know the full power of Dorne but reading her n'uncles many books had been rather enlightening in their overestimation of its power. King Ferris Fowler was said to have launched ten thousand of his own men against Highgarden but simple math of the Starks, Lannisters and Baratheons revealed such a claim as impossible alone. The Vulture King had thirty thousand and Daeron said fifty, almost as if the Maesters and scribes of Oldtown and the south exaggerated in order to make themselves greater in the eyes of their families.

"And yet you come to us, with salt and bread in your hands. Tell me Asha what does that say of the Ironborn? Are you so weak you must seek friends with someone you claim as far lesser than the world knows?" She tried to hide it in flippant and coy remarks but the Princess of Dorne understood the heart of the matter it seemed.

"Obviously to form an alliance. What do you know of the Narrow Sea during the past two decades, the bulk of your life if my numbers are right?"

"I was seven when House Targayren fell, the Narrow Sea was the very heart of loyalty to the Dragons. Now it is so very different, old friends of my father and uncle no longer speak or if they do of vastly different things. Driftmark has slowly risen to a level of power now seen since the Dance and the number of smallfolk seeking a new future within the land is worrisome. Its warriors have become the very heart of song, Steffon of the _Silver Tongue_ and the delightfully ironic Theon _Piratesbane._ Depending on how the wind blows my father may even suggest a betrothal." She supposed the look of desire over her brother should have gotten a greater reaction from her but Theon was nothing but a boy and brat in her memories. Besides more and more she believed any future for her in the Iron Islands rested on Theon being focused elsewhere.

"Great Houses I am sure they are under consideration. But then fathers and uncles can only be trusted so far to understand the needs of women. Somethings a lady just understands things that a lord can simply not." Eyebrow raising Arianne took the hint and signaled for her cousins to leave her, her own guards responding in kind. Grabbing a hand mirror to vainly check her appearance in the meantime it was obvious to them both she was simply ensuring they were alone.

"I have a simple question then Asha Greyjoy, why did you contact me and not my father? I am merely the Princess and heir apparent, my father still rules."

"There is one thing I did not tell you cousins, or your guards. Azula Baratheon is building armies in the North and Narrow Sea, armies with only a single purpose."

"I find that hard to believe, smallfolk are known to exaggerate and nobles imply outrageous threats all the time for glory, land and coin. There is no way the Butcher of Shipbreaker's Bay could call two hosts to arms and leave no one the wiser."

"You think of armies as spears and shields, I speak of armies as logistics, craftsman and deckhands. Have any Dornishmen seen fit to attend the Dragonstone or Scorching Bear Academy?"

"My cousin Sarella spoke of attending once at supper a few moons past but none to my knowledge, I did not even know there was such a thing in the North."

"Then you're blind to a grave threat or a great opportunity depending on what side you believe you are on. They teach not of The Seven Pointed Star, the words of Oldtown or the baneful tales of the Old and Drowned Gods. They speak of the Firelord and her one nation, of the glory of its existence and of their integral future in its glory. They speak of the _Fire Nation_ as one great host under one sovereign even as they spin in loyalty to the Iron Throne. She already has the ships, soon she will have her army and only numbers keep her vision from coming true. War is coming Prince Arianne Nymeros-Martell and I need allies I can sail and stand beside with trust when the time comes." For a moment the Princess stilled before her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Civil War? You think Prince Joffrey will come to blows with his cousin?"

"Perhaps not like that exactly, I assume like the Blackfyres a pretext or perhaps a truth will come to light to make House Baratheon of King's Landing unfit. The Firelord and her ilk have been too patient and too careful to force such an obvious ploy without some way to turn loyal houses to their cause. However I know of a few who will side against her if only out of spite."

"You believe the Reach will side with the Lannisters?" Not surprising she grasped that straw, Reacher politics largely defined what House Martell did. Even before Nymeria claimed the land as a single domain the Dornish Marches were a constantly shifting battleground of knights and brigands between the Gardeners, Durrandons and a dozen petty kings.

"House Tyrell and Redwyne without question, perhaps the Hightowers as well if the Maesters deign to realize how far the Butcher plans to educate. Doubtless a few more houses will rise if only salvage their wounded pride over the rebellion. I hazard to claim the entire Reach but enough for it to truly matter." The Princess placed her hands in her lap and seemed to gaze at her with a newfound intensity, one she hoped to find when she made the decisions to move forward with her plans. She chose Arianne because like her own father they had been left wanting in their own futures. Prince Doran was infamously cautious and even Uncle Rodrik warned her the man was no coward even if he spoke appeasement and peace. Before coming to terms with her place as a Greyjoy and there future in Westeros she would have missed the obvious but it was plain as the sun giving way to the moon now. The Dornish _had a_ _plan_ for revenge against the Lannisters and to an extent Robert Baratheon. It was simply a matter of when Doran and in all likelihood her Uncle planned to unleash it. Arianne, a woman looking for a future in the world like herself may not wish to be chained by the memories of her aunt as her brothers had become.

"Let us assume that such a battle breaks out and lines are drawn in the Seven Kingdoms. How would you expect us to work together? Snakes and Squids make quite the odd pair do they not?"

"A pair no one will see coming and will allow room to maneuver when the time comes. Should we back the Lion Stag the Stormlands and Narrow are ours to take. In the case of the Flaming Stag it leaves the Marches, Shields and Whispering Sound. I am not so foolhardy as to steer us into harsh seas, I prefer to keep my options open."

"Assurances would need to be made." Eyes twinkling, the snake had definitely found prey it found tempting.

"You have two brothers do you not?"

"Quentyn and Trystane, I assume one would be for yourself?" A wide smile formed as all pretenses of hypotheticals and half promises disappeared.

"Aye, they are of high enough birth my father would need a good reason to deny. Especially as I know it is one my mother and a few of our more discontented bannermen will support."

"He could say no."

Shrugging at the possibility she pushed forward. "He could wake up dead tomorrow, my father is not a young man and his people are not the mad sycophants he had before the rebellion. They say in the game of thrones you win or you die, it is the truth. My father's dreams died many years ago and with it his spirit. If he casually dismisses a potential alliance of such scale he best have a viable alternative or his banners call him senile. At which point my brother would have full rights to remove him." Over his dead body in reality but she hazarded a guess the Butcher was ready and willing for that particularly eventuality for her brother.

"Does he even have alternatives?"

"In the Iron Islands a few but the raise the possibly of someone claiming rulership of Pyke over Theon, assuming the Iron Throne saw fit to recognized such an act. My father ever prideful would balk at such a thing regardless. The Tullys, Starks and Lannisters are out for obvious reason and I somehow doubt he would keep his mouth shut at a Baratheon. I suppose I could live with the Vale of Arryn, though if ravens be true my left thumb has more muscle than all of Robert Arryn has in his entire body."

"It does fit in quite nicely does it not? I am intrigued Lady Greyjoy and see the truth of your words. However my father while immobile with the gout still rules with a deep and firm hand. I cannot guarantee anything but I can swear by the Old Gods and the New your words will reach his ears. More importantly it will only be spoken of in the strictest confidence." Slowly she rose from her chair and waited for the Princess to do the same. As a sign of trust Arianne stuck out her hand only to be confused when she pressed the book into her hand.

"I gather your father and uncle will need more than the word of a single Ironborn to do anything. This Princess is all the proof you need. Greater than any spy, soldier or maester, these pages reveal what the Butcher truly is."

"And what is she then? A monster to her enemies or a savior to a lost people?" For a moment she stopped as Arianne raised a good point. Was House Nymeros-Martell not founded on a women doing everything necessary to save her people? Was she fearing an empire when it was simply a new kingdom she feared? Or was the Princess clouded by her own blood and history to appreciate what was coming?

"I wish you good fortune in the war's to come Princess, because one will soon be upon us."


	13. (Winterfell) Ursa I

(Winterfell: 4/12/298 AC) Ursa I

' _Again!'_ She thought to herself, breathing heavily, after today's tenth attempt to master the movements her mother had commanded her to learn. ' _Everything needed to be perfect when she came. It should be a little over a week from now when Mother arrives, along with the king and his entourage, and she will not tolerate failure or imperfection,'_ she continued. Deep within the Wolfswood, with the cold wind biting her exposed arms and face, Ursa Baratheon, first of her name, deeply inhaled the morning's icy air, warming it in her chest. She focused a small amount of time to regain the breath control needed to properly harness her power.

Once the brief breathing exercise was concluded, she returned to the starting position required for bending lightning. _'This was a skill mother had mastered when she was fifteen! And that was not even including the mastery she had already had over her blue flames,'_ she thought angrily to herself, before realizing in a panic, _'I only have two years left!'_ Finding her passion for succeeding and surpassing her mother encouraging her, she stood with her feet apart, and began again, remembering the moment when it was decided she would be shipped out to this frigid wasteland.

Dragonstone (1/7/295 AC)

"You will be a ward of the Starks," she said with finality. A frown was crossing her lips, and the shadows cast by the flaring of her blues flames accented her displeasure. "You will have the Stark heir take you for his wife, you will secure the North, and through them, the familial loyalties of the Riverlands, and the Vale."

"But mother," she pleaded, bowing her head, and never raising it to look upon her mother's face "you still have much to teach me of bending!"

"I will provide you with several scrolls, I have created, that illustrate the correct stances required for proper bending. So you will not be entirely bereft of my guidance."

Grasping for any way to escape being banished to that barren place, she questioned, her head still bowed, "And what of father?"

"What of your father?" her mother responded, the temperature slightly rising.

"Has he also accepted turning me over to the Starks as their ward?" she asked timidly, knowing full well that evoking her father at this point was out of sheer desperation. It was an open sign of weakness, which her mother despised.

The temperature rose higher.

"So long as your father has his beloved heir, he cares not what I do with you. As my reasoning is sound, and I do not intend to kill or harm you, he will not question my motives or deny my request," her mother explained, knowing full well that what Ursa feared was not just the physical pain she could cause, when she wanted, but the emotional pain her words always did.

"But…" she began.

"Ursa!" the flames flared to life, "Who am I?"

"Azula? Azula Baratheon?" Ursa answered awkwardly, head still bowed in reverence, confused by the question.

"Ursa! Who am I!?" she questioned, as the flames rose higher, and grew hotter, signifying her anger.

"…Fire…Firelord?" she finally answered, after what seemed like an eternity, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

"And who are you?!" she demanded.

"A…a humble servant, to the will, of the Firelord," she choked out.

"Good. And where will you go?" she questioned sweetly, as the fires slowly ebbed, and the heat began dissipating.

"To Winterfell…"

(Winterfell: 4/12/298 AC) Ursa I

' _It was difficult being the last, no, the only hope for our bloodline,'_ she thought proudly, with a small sense of anger and irritation. ' _Steffon was a failure who couldn't bend an ember, and Ty Lee was a coddled weakling. It all depended on her!'_ Herfoot slid slightly, to the side, while she had been deep in thought, destroying the whole form. ' _Damn!'_ She swore to herself, small spouts of red flames shooting out of her nostrils, in frustration. Quickly collecting herself, she scanned the nearby area, to confirm that she was still alone. Her shadow had not joined her today, so Ursa had time to think without the constant barrage of questions her shadow brought with her.

Thinking back to her arrival, she had quickly discovered that finding a way out of Winterfell, to perfect her firebending in privacy, had been a test of her patience.

Winterfell (6/8/295 AC)

' _Mother demands the utmost secrecy,_ ' she thought, contemplating how much time she would realistically have available to practice. On her second day, after mentally making note of everything she could, she tried to simply leave through the North Gate, with her two Flameguard, Brienne and Jun. It proved useless as Lord Stark remained adamant that a group of Stark guardsmen accompany her at all times to keep her safe. For he would " _have no harm come to her within his home, or on his lands_." Her 'walks,' as Lord Stark had come to call them, were a thinly disguised excuse to map out the perimeter, both interior and exterior, of Winterfell. During several of these expeditions, Lord Stark's eldest son, Robb, would occasionally accompany her and her guards with his bastard brother in tow. These 'walks' were most informative, as they were done in an attempt to uncover a way she could discreetly escape the monotony of Winterfell to practice the only thing that gave her joy. Having the Stark heir present to ask 'innocent' questions of Winterfell, also proved its usefulness. While practicing with bladed weapons was somewhat satisfying, more so when she defeated boys her age and older, Ursa found that it paled in comparison to actual firebending. Additionally, her swordplay also would also cause no small amount of distress to Lady Stark, who did not want her youngest daughter getting 'ideas.'

Fortunately, her Lord Father, no doubt with some 'persuasion' from her mother, had written to Lord Stark that she was to be allowed to practice her swordsmanship. Thus preventing the Lady Stark from denying her that small avenue of escape, stating that " _a lady should always be allowed to learn to defend herself with steel."_

' _Those were mother's words_ ,' she concluded.

During her usual outings, when Robb accompanied her, he would often attempt and make small talk about this or that, trying to get to know his new guest. Ursa, to her embarrassment, would usually freeze or awkwardly respond, not used to such casual conversational topics. ' _Her parents were not the most avid practitioners of idle talk_ ,' she thought, ' _and it proved to be a most agonizingly painful mark of imperfection._ ' Annoyingly, Robb himself seemed to find humor in her embarrassment, much to Ursa's chagrin.

' _That grinning fool_ ,' she once thought, ' _how dare he mock me?_ '

It was on her fourth week that the Lady Arya Stark, barely six, had been drawn to her after discovering Ursa practicing in the courtyard. The little wolf approached her, asking about how she learned the art of the sword. To which Ursa responded, echoing the words of her mother, "a lady should always be allowed to learn to defend herself with steel." It did not take long for Lady Stark to learn that her little Arya had engaged in conversation with the outsider. Shortly thereafter, she was barred from practicing in the open and was 'encouraged' to practice outside the walls of Winterfell, with an armed Stark guard to keep her safe in the Wolfswood.

A month later, she remembered thinking, ' _At least, I got out of Winterfell. Now that it is known that I may sometimes be outside of Winterfell, I only need to find a way to escape quietly. I would be able to disappear for a few hours before questions began to arise,_ ' she continued, ' _but how to do so?_ ' Wishing for a few minutes alone, she told her guards, both Flame and Stark, that she needed to make water, and stalked away.

Once a comfortable distance away she sparked a small flame in her hands, coveting the warmth and the power of the fire. She heard a branch snap close by, and saw a small form hiding behind a tree, eyes wide, and partially obscured by the low hanging branches. ' _Arya Stark?! How did she?_ ' She remembered uttering in her mind, and just then an idea sprang into her mind.

"Lady Ursa?!" she heard her guard shout, "are you well?"

Looking towards the little wolf, she placed her finger to her lips and gave her a wink. The littlest Lady Stark responded by smiling broadly, and sneaking off back towards Winterfell.

(Winterfell: 4/12/298 AC) Ursa I

Unfocused and thinking about her past few years, she did not realize until too late that her footing was off, and she slipped on a patch of snow. Laying there, sprawled on the icy ground, she muttered to herself, "Mother is going to be livid." As if summoned by her thoughts, a messenger hawk landed on a nearby branch with a message tied to its leg. Quickly rising to her feet, she walked towards it as the hawk's eyes bore into her. Her heart began beating rapidly and her legs weighed her down like iron shackles. She reached the hawk and took the small note. Unwrapping it, she stood in silence, staring at the two simple words.

"Six days…"


	14. (Winterfell) Ursa II

(Winterfell: 4/22/298 AC) Ursa II

Two days had passed after King Robert's, arrival when her mother had approached her early in the morning. Ursa had been quietly breaking her fast in the nearly deserted Great Hall. The Firelord of Dragonstone had been clad in her usual royal Firenation uniform, with her Valyrian steel sword, 'Scarred Brother,' strapped to her side. It was one of two swords forged, by an armorer living in King's Landing, using the Valyrian steel of the Tarly Greatsword, 'Heartsbane.' The work had begun once word had reached Dragonstone, of Samwell Tarly's death, several months before the Greyjoy Rebellion. Her mother and father had been rumored to have watched the forging, of their two swords, all the way through the process taking place within the smithy of Dragonstone. Special preparations had to have been made to allow the armorer, Tobho Mott, to properly work the mysterious metal away from his workshop in King's Landing.

"One sword for the Firelord and one for the Lord of Dragonstone," her mother had said. They had all been present, father, mother, six-year-old Steffon, and herself, barely four, for the unveiling of the two swords. Both were equal in length, not long enough to be labeled 'longswords,' nor short enough to be confused for a short sword. They were just, two swords. 'Scarred Brother,' had been a name reminiscent of Visenya Targaryen's 'Dark Sister.' A woman which her mother had been fascinated with, along with the Targaryen's and Valyria, in general, when she had first arrived. The ornamented cross guard, held the likeness of a golden dragon from her mother's country, with thin slivers of enameled red steel running along the left side of its face. Straps of glossy black leather wrapped around the hilt, culminating in a pommel shaped to display the three-pronged flame of the Firenation. It wasn't until Ursa, and Steffon, had spoken with the Lady Mai that she had learned the origin of the name and that she had an uncle named Zuko. Her mother had never spoken of him, and for the first time, both she and her brother shared a mutual interest in learning of their mysterious uncle. Her mother had not been pleased when they had broached the subject with her. She had simply stated that he had been, "An honorable fool. Prone to weakness."

Ursa had been content with that, for if he was weak, then what could she learn from him? Steffon, on the other hand, had been intrigued and sought out her mother's friends, Mai and Ty Lee, for more information concerning his uncle. He had later learned of one, General Iroh, who had been her mother's uncle. This lit a spark in him and he kept seeking more and more knowledge of his extended family, while Ursa remained content to sit and have her mother bestow upon her what knowledge she felt worthy enough for her heir.

Nevertheless, 'Scarred brother, would one day be hers,' Ursa thought to herself.

Her little shadow, Arya, had been with her in the Grand Hall. Arya's pet direwolf, Nymeria, was laying on the seat of the table. As her mother approached, the direwolf growled slightly, before whimpering, and snuggling its head on Arya's lap. The little she-wolf, and her pet, no longer felt groggy as they once had, having grown accustomed to waking early to eat breakfast with her. The Lady Catelyn and her eldest daughter, Sansa, had been somewhat agitated at the how much time little Arya Stark had been spending with her. However, with Arya never joining her for her practices, as far as the Lady Catelyn knew, it remained a mere annoyance that Lord Stark never bothered to address. A part of him, Ursa could tell, seemed to be somewhat delighted, as it kept his youngest daughter out of trouble. Further, still, she suspected, he may have been aware of the 'secret' training sessions she would have with his daughter. Interestingly, he had yet to ever speak against it.

As Ursa's stay wore on, the time the fiery doe and the little she-wolf spent together had made the youngest Stark daughter become noticeably more disciplined and respectful. She had even gone so far as to attend her classes, with Septa Mordane, without argument. A feat which had, apparently, surprised the entire Stark household.

"How did you do it?" she remembered Robb, Jon, and Sansa asking her on three separate occasions.

She had no adequate response to give them, as she just did not like wasting time in her day. The discipline instilled in her, by both her mother and the Grand Academy, was the result of a strict physical and mental regimen that allowed no weakness, no idleness, to persist. As far as she was aware, Arya seemed to just naturally fall into the unforgiving routine. Yes, she had stumbled at first, but she caught on much more quickly than Ursa had anticipated. In fact, Ursa had not expected her to last and had been hoping Arya would have given up, so as not to trouble her further. However, that had been at the onset of their 'partnership.' Now Ursa grew to appreciate her company almost as much as she did Brienne's.

'If only she didn't ask so many damned questions,' she thought, to herself, of Arya.

Her tall, blonde, Flameguard from Tarth, had been assigned to accompany her here to Winterfell after Brienne had completed her combat training at the Grand Academy. An effort, by her mother, to siphon off allies from Ursa's uncle, Renly. Neither she, nor Brienne, knew what offer her mother had made to Lord Selwyn, but it seemed to have been sufficient enough for the Lord of Evenfall Hall to send his heir to Dragonstone.

"Ursa?" her mother spoke, before Ursa and her shadow shot up from their seats. Startled, by her voice, the little direwolf hid under the table.

"Mother?" Ursa had responded, her and her shadow holding their hands at their sides, backs arched forward in respect.

Little Arya, brave though she was, was absolutely terrified. She had been casting desperate glances towards Ursa as to how to respond.

"Arya Stark, is it?" her mother asked before Arya nervously nodded her head up and down in acknowledgment.

"It is…Lady Azula," she said with as firm a voice as she could muster.

"Will you allow me to spend time with my daughter, alone?" her mother asked sweetly, and Ursa suddenly found herself wishing Arya would stay.

"Ye..yes your Grac…erhmm, my Lady!" she stammered, before shooting out of the hall, direwolf in tow, only returning briefly to grab a half-eaten biscuit.

Her mother held a soft, and mirthless, smile as the little Stark girl ran out of the hall. After which, her mother's smile left and a frown set in its place.

"Walk with me. Show me the Wolfswood," she ordered, and Ursa obeyed.

As they stepped out into the cool morning air, five Flameguard awaited them outside, the sun had only just begun to peek out on the horizon. The tall form of Brienne was obvious amongst the four, shorter, Flameguard mother had brought with her. Jun, Ursa's second Flameguard protector, assigned to her when she came to Winterfell, was bedridden.

'Or, more accurately, privy-ridden,' Ursa thought grimly.

Jun had apparently ingested something that had made her lose control of her bowels, and while not serious, it had been a bit embarrassing for all of them as Jun kept needing to stop all movement to allow her stomach to resettle itself. Maester Luwin had assured Jun and Ursa that Jun would eventually grow better. While her, her mother, and their Flameguard entourage marched towards the North Gate, several of the Lannister guard, who had been awake, reached for their swords, waiting for them to pass, before releasing their grips. Jon Snow had been awake, as well, nodding his head as they passed through the courtyard.

The walk towards the North Gate had been silent, and uneventful. Once they had arrived and the gate had opened, they stepped through and proceeded forward several paces before turning left into the Wolfswood. Her mother had commanded the Flameguard to remain behind, as she wished to have a quiet conversation, alone. They hesitated, especially Brienne, but they knew how dangerous the Lady of Dragonstone was and so they nodded their heads in response. While the Flameguard stood watch at the edge of the Wolfswood, Ursa, and her mother entered the dimly lit forest. The woods were just beginning to accept light from the morning sun, and in the distance, they heard a wolf's howl.

As she walked behind her mother, going further and further, into the Wolfswood, a slight breeze swept cool air through the trees and caused Ursa to shiver. Her mother exhaled, the hot breath emerging from her lungs as a steamy mist against the cold wind. She inhaled, and asked Ursa the question she had been expecting. The question she had been dreading.

"What progress have you made with the heir of Winterfell?"

Ursa hesitated, "He appears to fancy me," she said and the world seemed to grow silent for a moment.

"Appears to?" she paused, standing still as a statue, her hands clasped at her back.

"He…he smiles when I speak? He…" she began pathetically.

"Again," her mother cut in, "What progress have you made with the heir of Winterfell?" the wind continued to slightly rustle the leaves of the trees in the Wolfswood.

She shrank before her mother's form, quietly uttering, "….None."

"None?" her mother began, her stance changing ever so slightly. She spoke her next words, not as her mother, but as her Firelord. "Why?"

She remained silent. Unable to conjure up even a remotely plausible reason, she spoke plainly, "I don't want to marry him…" She knew that had upset her mother, and she regretted letting that sentence spill forth from her mouth.

" _Want_? You do not _want_ , to marry him?" she said in a harsh tone, before turning her body around and staring Ursa dead in the eyes. She stepped forward, and Ursa could not find the strength to move.

"Do you think I _wanted_ to be here? On this primitive world populated by unwashed barbarians? Do you think I _wanted_ to marry your father? Do you think I want to kiss that drunken oaf's ass? No! There are many things I do not _want_ , Ursa Baratheon! Yet I remain silent and accept the needs of the legacy bestowed upon me. I was poised to inherit the world, my world, and now I am reduced to clawing my way up through the dredges to even come within spitting distance of the authority I once held! Do not presume to speak to me of your ' _wants_ ' for they pale in comparison to my own!" her mother stood close enough that Ursa could feel her hot breath against her face. Ursa had nearly been of equal height to her mother, and yet she felt smaller than a mouse before her gaze.

"I married your father because of the needs of my crew! We had been taken from our world and thrown here into this putrid excuse for one. They looked to me for direction! Me! A fifteen-year-old girl! The fate of an entire nation was placed on my shoulders! The Firenation, thousands of years of history, balancing over the edge of oblivion! I needed to be decisive, confident, and fearless! I could not allow my ' _wants_ ' to interfere! They were afraid and on the verge of collapse, but I would be damned if I allowed my country and what remained of its people to disintegrate and fade into the nothingness. I was not going have the Firenation become a footnote in this world's history! So I did what was necessary! I swallowed my pride and married a man I did not know! I allied with people I did not know. I bore children that I had not been ready for! Because they needed it! They needed a home. They needed stability! I was their Firelord now, and until the time when the Firelord is answerable to no one, the needs of our people will always outweigh the wants of the Firelord! So tell me Ursa. Do you want to be Firelord, or do you need to be Firelord? Freedom or duty? Think carefully, for the former will see you replaced by Ty Lee, and the later will see you unhappy for as long as you choose to bear the crown."

Her mother walked past Ursa and began to trek back towards Winterfell. Ursa stood there, rooted to the spot. The verbal lashing her mother had given her, had added bitter clarity towards a phrase her brother would often say, in jest, when their mother grew angry.

"Seven kingdoms united in fear of Azula Baratheon…"


	15. (Winterfell) Ned I

(Winterfell: 5/9/298 AC) Ned I

The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon as Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, and his household guards readied their horses to begin the long journey south to King's Landing. The royal procession had also been in the midst of preparing for the long journey back, only to stall for several hours, as guards and servants tried to awake the King from his deep slumber. The Stark family and household servants had arisen to bid him, his eldest daughter Sansa, and his second son Bran, farewell.

"Oh Sansa, you look beautiful," Catelyn Stark gushed as her eyes glistened in the rising sun. She parted a loose strand of hair away from Sansa's shoulder before his daughter shot into her mother's arms. "I'll miss you," his wife muttered sadly, "Write often, and when you become Queen, make sure to come visit. Hmmm?"

"I will, I will," his daughter cried, tears running down her rosy cheeks.

As his wife and elder daughter broke their embrace, the Lady of Winterfell planted a light kiss on their daughter's forehead. Afterward, Robb, Arya, and Rickon, came forward to embrace their sister and speak their own goodbyes, as his lady wife moved towards their second youngest son. "Bran, be careful. No climbing the walls of King's Landing," she chastised, with a smile, a single tear escaping her left eye.

She kissed Bran's forehead, as well, before his son spoke in a slightly broken voice, "Do not worry mother. I will be busy speaking with all of the knights and lords. Maybe I will meet Ser Steffon!" At the last statement, his son's voice grew in excitement, and his lady wife cast a look towards him before resuming her smile and embracing their son a final time.

She came up to him, and spoke, "And you, my love, be very careful in that viper's nest." A soft warm kiss reached his mouth, coming from the woman he called his wife. A woman that he had not been intended for, but one he had grown to love over their long years of marriage. "If you need someone to trust in that place, trust Baelish," she said, rotating her head to the side.

' _Trust the man, whom Brandon nearly killed?'_ he thought, his eyes following his wife's own, as she turned. He found himself staring at Lady Azula speaking with her daughter Ursa. A ring of six Flameguard, kept a comfortable distance away from the mother and daughter, keeping others from entering their private circle, while the Lady Azula's mount waited near her. Their ward, Ursa, held her hands to her side, back straight and stiff, while Lord Stannis' lady wife circled her like a wolf. They had been a noticeable distance away from the rest of the royal procession, hugging the eastern wall separating the Great Hall and the Courtyard, and as such were unable to be overheard. From what the Lord of Winterfell could see, and the look in her eyes, Ursa's mother appeared to be issuing sharp words. After the Lady Azula had finished speaking she had remained motionless for a few moments, before reaching over with her right hand and pulling out a scroll from a small pouch attached to the saddle of her pitch black Destrier. She handed the scroll to her daughter, while her left hand held a firm grip on the sheathed Valyrian steel sword strapped to her side. Their young ward made a fist and slapped it against her own flat palm. As she held both hands in front of her chest, she bowed her head, before freeing her hands, and receiving the scroll. "Be cautious with her," his lady wife uttered quietly.

They had arguments surrounding the Lady of Dragonstone before, and he did not wish to tread over the same ones yet again, so he held his tongue. He loved his wife, dearly, but she did not understand war. So he merely responded with, "I will, my love," before clasping her hand in his and planting a light kiss on the back of it. He looked into her eyes and saw her let the thoughts of Lady Azula drift out of her mind.

As they shared their tender moment, his beloved nuzzling her head against his chest, he noticed a seventh figure approach the ring of Flameguard surrounding the Lady Azula and her daughter. Jon Snow, his 'son,' came upon the group, clad in the colors and uniform of the Dragonstone guard. Over the last three years of Ursa's stay, he had noticed his 'son,' who was truthfully his nephew, growing closer towards the young Flameguard who protected Ursa. Jun was a slight girl of four and ten, scarcely a year older than Ursa herself, pale, and with minor Yi-Tish features shaping her eyes and nose. Catelyn had said she was a comely girl, who did not hold the stern, rigid features of Lady Azula's daughter. From what he recalled, _'Jun was the daughter of one of Azula's "Wisemen,"_ or so she had said, _'and had been a childhood friend of Ursa, alongside Brienne, during their time at the Academy.'_ The Lady Brienne was only two years older than Jun and was almost as stern as Lord Stannis' daughter. She, unlike Ursa, was capable of giving a genuine smile that did not feel…odd. As for Jun, Eddard Stark had no reason to mistrust her affections for Jon, as she was kind, gentle, and humorous. She got along well with his household and could often be found reading in Winterfell's library, when not accompanying the young lady from Dragonstone. _'It was during one of Ursa's sparring sessions in the courtyard before Cat had put a stop to them, that Jon had first met the young woman,'_ he remembered. Ever since then, the two had been inseparable, often meeting early in the mornings to break their fast, and joining each other for walks outside Winterfell when Ursa would allow it. He and the rest of his household, barring Cat, had been happy for him.

"When is the wedding?" Robb would jokingly ask.

"About the same time as yours," he remembered Jon responding, with a grin.

When news had reached them of Robert's trip to the north, and that Azula would be accompanying him, Jon had grown nervous. He had spoken to him about his wish in asking the Lady Azula to allow him to be the third guardian of her daughter, and that once Ursa's time as ward was concluded, to be allowed to journey back to Dragonstone with her.

(Winterfell: 3/8/298 AC) Ned I

"Dragonstone does not care about the nature of one's birth, father, what matters is what you can achieve, and how you can better serve the realm," Jon had said.

Ned had been proud, and wary, of his nephew's desire to be in such proximity to King's Landing. ' _However, who was he to deny Lyanna's son?'_ he thought, _'No one else, knew of Jon's true parentage, save Howland, so what was the harm?_ ' The alternative had been the Watch, which Jon had spoken to him about several times, before Ursa's arrival. _'The cold loneliness of the wall with criminals and a handful of honorable men?'_ came the question, ' _Or the beaches of Dragonstone with a woman he loved, and an environment that, if tales were to be believed, would not judge him for being a Snow?'_ He mentally scoffed, _'No, it was no choice at all.'_ He had spoken to Catelyn about Jon's wishes, that night, and she had been reserved, cautious.

"When will Ursa be departing?" he remembered her asking, as she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"Lord Stannis and Lady Azula have said when she turns six and ten years of age," came his tired response, rubbing her exposed shoulder with his fingers.

"Four years more, and he will be gone?" she muttered, the sheets and furs shifting over them as she maneuvered to get a better look into his eyes.

He had known she held no love for Jon, but she could not have known the truth of his parentage either. He had taken the burden of claiming him as his own, when he returned from the south, after the war. "Aye," he answered, staring into the deep blue pools of her eyes.

(Winterfell: 4/23/298 AC) Ned I

Several days after Robert's and Lady Azula's arrival, Jon had entered his study, shaken, and spoke of asking the Lady of Dragonstone to be made Ursa's third Flameguard. Ned had been prepared to speak kind words, until Jon's face grew a smile, "She accepted."

At those words, the Lord of Winterfell began to restructure his thoughts regarding the Lady of Dragonstone. _'She is unpredictable,'_ he thought. She was ruthless, in the war, to her enemies. Yet, judging from her reaction towards the bodies of the royal family, and the fact she brought the young prince Viserys back to Robert alive, she was unwilling to spill the blood of innocents. Her readiness to accept Jon as a guardian for her daughter, spoke volumes of her character, for she truly did not care about the origins of one's birth, she only judged them by their merits. _'I need to ask her of this later,'_ he thought, before adding _'I need to ask her many things.'_

(Barrowlands: 5/14/298 AC) Ned I

After five days of travel, and reminiscing with Robert, which usually involved far too much wine and ale to his liking, the Lord of Winterfell sought some departure from his old friend's drunken ramblings. It had been midday when he took to his gray palfrey, accompanied by several Stark guard, and trotted toward the back end of the royal caravan where the Lady Azula rode alongside her Flameguard and small, ornate, carriage. She noticed him, and nodded her head before speaking, "Lord Stark, what brings you to the end of the caravan?" She smiled, before continuing, "Had enough of the king's tawdry tales?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Aye, my Lady."

"He is a good man, a fine warrior, but…" she paused, before concluding, "he remains trapped in the past." She waved her guards off, as he pulled his mount beside hers.

The Lord of Winterfell slumped his shoulders, and responded, "That he does," he glanced towards her. "He speaks well of you, and your son, you know?"

"I am aware he does," she stated, before removing one hand from her reins, aiming to readjust her red fur cloak. "While at the same time disparaging his brother, Lord Stannis, my husband," she looked at him. "But I hold no ill will towards his grace. Family squabbles are natural after all."

"Indeed, they are. My daughters have proven as much," he smiled, and the Lady Azula smiled with him.

"Speaking of daughters, has mine been…hospitable?" she questioned, looking towards the west, and the receding tree line of the Wolfswood. A gentle breeze swept through, as she turned her head back towards him, awaiting an answer.

"She has been nothing but dutiful. A bit distant, at times, but no issues," he said truthfully. He had known her to be close friends with Arya, but he knew her to be training and advising her in combat, and held nothing but gratitude for it. Even if it was against the wishes of his lady wife, he began to see Arya become more respectful towards her sister and mother. She was driven in her studies and, in general, she was happier. He knew the tragedy of keeping a she-wolf restrained, and if being friends with Ursa Baratheon kept Arya happy, then so be it. He had told his Lady-wife of his suspicions, prior to departing, and she had, surprisingly, accepted it. She had been upset, to be sure, but she spoke of not wanting to destroy what Arya had forged with the young doe from Dragonstone. She had been afraid that if she did, she would lose Arya.

(Winterfell: 5/6/298 AC) Ned I

"Losing one daughter is enough," she had said, three days prior to his departure from Winterfell, before preempting his response. "No! Ned, it is Sansa's wish to go. What kind of mother would I be if I let one of my daughters follow their dream while stifling the aspirations of the other?" His lady wife may have held some distrust towards Lady Azula, upon meeting her for the first time when she had accompanied the royal party to Winterfell, yet somehow she trusted that Ursa Baratheon was not like her mother. "Mothers can tell the difference," she had claimed.

(Barrowlands: 5/14/298 AC) Ned I

"That is good," she responded, the soft trotting of their horses providing a comfortable silence. "Your Lady wife, speaks well of your son."

Pride swelled in his heart. "Robb is…" he began.

"No, not him, though she speaks well of him also," she interrupted, "The other one, Jon Snow."

Ned took some time to recover, causing the Lady Azula to raise her eyebrow. "He is a fine lad. He knows how to fight, he is honorable, and is understanding with others," he responded, still somewhat reeling from the news that Catelyn had spoken well of Jon. However, it did not take too long, before he came to the realization that she had likely only done so, to get him to leave. ' _Surely there was no greater acknowledgment, of an individual's character, than a woman speaking well of her husband's bastard?'_ he thought. In her efforts to be rid of Jon, she had unknowingly made his future far better than it otherwise would have been.

"Good. I could use good men and women on Dragonstone," she said, before adding, "Speaking of women, Ursa mentioned your youngest daughter's desire to come to Dragonstone. Is this true?"

"First I am hearing of it, my Lady," he replied. All the while knowing that that was the likely outcome of the friendship Arya and Ursa shared. Whether Cat would allow Arya to leave was another matter entirely. She allowed them to be friends, but to physically lose her only other daughter to the South? He was unsure.

Now it was the Lady Azula's turn to chuckle, "Well, perhaps I've said too much?"

He smiled, "No, they are good friends. It is only reasonable to assume my daughter would have wished to accompany yours back to Dragonstone."

"She would be more than welcome," replied the Lady of Dragonstone.

Together the rode their horses down the King's Road in comfortable silence, with their respective guards accompanying them. He thought on the questions, regarding her acceptance of Jon, he had been meaning to ask, but chose to abandon them. After the Lady of Dragonstone had revealed that it was Catelyn who recommended Jon to her, his suspicions had been quieted. As he sat atop his horse, in contemplative silence, the Lady of Dragonstone spoke.

"Lord Arryn spoke well of you," she said, shaking him out of his thoughts. He focused his eyes on her, as she looked forward, and spoke. "Although, I suppose I should not be surprised," she glanced at him, before adding, "You are a good man, Lord Stark. Years may have passed since the end of his Grace's Rebellion, but I still remember that moment in the Throne Room."

' _As do I,'_ he thought.

(King's Landing: 11/22/283 AC) Ned I

In the sudden confusion brought about by the Lady Azula and her Firenation guard emptying the contents of their stomachs, on the stone floor, Robert had demanded the young Targaryen's head. Even as he rushed to defend the frightened young Viserys, he held a small amount of respect for the pregnant, foreign-looking, girl. A girl whom he had first met in this Throne room, at this moment, escorting a young, living, Targaryen prisoner. A girl who had reacted with just as much disgust as he had, upon viewing the broken corpses of Princess Elia and her two children. He remembered telling Robert, "If you strike down Viserys, you will be no friend of the north, no friend of mine." The words had echoed in his mind, and Robert had been furious, but Jon had done his best to alleviate the situation, suggesting the young Targaryen be sent to the wall. "I will escort him north, after finding my sister," he remembered saying, clutching at the scared, silver-white haired, boy. Robert had shouted his inevitable response, "Fine! Out! Out, damn you! I'm done with you, bring your sister back, and go! Run back to Winterfell! If I ever see him again," he jutted his finger towards Viserys, "I'll have his head on a spike! I'll put it there myself, you fool!"

-( Barrowlands: 5/14/298 AC) Ned I

"I may not have been…in the best condition…during your argument with Robert, but I caught enough to know that you are not like the rest of the individuals who populate the Red Keep." A brief pause hung in the air before she added, "My husband, and the late Jon Arryn, being the exception, of course."

' _No mention of Baelish?'_ he thought. "And what of Petyr Baelish? Catelyn has said he is trustworthy." As he spoke his words he saw the small form of Lady Azula seize up, before letting out a hearty laugh.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said, flicking a nonexistent tear from her eyes. "I do not presume to judge your lady wife's choices in trustworthy characters, but Baelish?" All mirth had fallen from her face, and she looked at him, "Baelish is no Baelor the Blessed. He is a very dangerous man. He serves one master, above all others, himself."

"She knew him as a child," he began, "said he was headstrong, yet honorable."

"As a child, perhaps. But he is a man now, and King's Landing has a habit of changing those who reside within," she looked at him. "You are no such man, Lord Stark, and I know a part of you understands this. As you stood in the Throne room you saw how it changed Robert. Even over the course of a few hours, you saw."

He locked his eyes with her, before nodding the truth of her words.

She returned her gaze towards the path ahead, and spoke, "The Throne has had fifteen years to work it black tendrils into his heart, and body. Just as he is physically a shadow of the man he had once been, so too is his soul. He still tries to be a good man, spirits help him, but the pressures of ruling the kingdoms will not stop until he is destroyed," she lowered her head and glanced towards the mane of her horse, her hands sifting through the silky smooth hair. "Lord Arryn tried to help him, just as you will try to help him. But where he failed, will you succeed?" She spoke the last, her golden eyes observing his gray ones, searching for something.

"I will do what I can to help him, it is what a hand is for," he replied.

"He requires more than help, Lord Stark. He needs someone to save him," she said.

"From who?" he questioned, the world seemingly growing quiet at the grave statement.

"From himself," she uttered, before the King and Jamie Lannister rode into view, "and from those who would do him harm…" She said the last, in a low growl, and he saw her intense eyes locking with the form of Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer.


	16. (Castle Black) Tyrion I

(The Wall: 5/30/298 AC) Tyrion I

"Tell me again, Stark, why did I decide to accompany you here?" he asked, as the cold continued creeping into his bones.

"You wanted to see the Wall, my Lord," he smirked, before motioning his hands towards the ancient structure comprised of ice, stone, and, rumor has it, magic. "Well, there it is."

"Yes, yes, now let's get into castle black before my extremities shrink any more," he said through chattering teeth, as a thought entered his mind. _'It's cold…far colder than I had originally thought it would be…I don't recall any white ravens.'_

"As you wish, my lord, it is still several hours away," the black brother replied, as he motioned to his fellow sworn brothers to continue their advancement to the home of the Night's Watch.

"Several hours away?" asked the diminutive heir of Casterly Rock. "But I can see the bloody thing!"

"It is far larger than it appears at first glance," said the young brother of Lord Eddard Stark, as their small caravan pressed forward.

"Oh fuck me," he responded, bundling into his expensive furs as he did so.

(Castle Black: 5/30/298 AC) Tyrion I

True to his word, the trip did indeed take several hours, and Tyrion had thought the worn gate of Castle Black to be an entrance to paradise, a haven from the bitter cold. "At last!" he exclaimed, as they approached the rickety looking thing.

"She's sturdier than she looks," said the first ranger, Benjen Stark.

"I should hope so," he replied, "otherwise there might be a serious inquiry on where our coin goes."

"We don't get much from you rich lords in the south, barring Dragonstone," he said, while a nearby black brother signaled to the gate guard for entry. As the gate creaked open, the first ranger spoke, "The Lady of Dragonstone seems to be keenly interested in what occurs at the wall. She's sent food, clothes, weapons, and even a few of dozen of her men, headed by a young boy of four-and-ten, named Sho Yu."

' _The Lady Azula has a long reach indeed,'_ he thought. "And they willingly took the black?" came his surprised response, as they neared the stables, and prepared to dismount.

"They have not, they are here to report and assist where needed," the first ranger explained as he dismounted his dark brown garron. "They are switched out every so often," Lord Stark's younger brother continued.

While the first ranger spoke, a Lannister guard assisted him, in dismounting his own princely looking gray garron. _'What a remarkable little horse,'_ Tyrion thought, examining his mount, _'stocky, yet resilient. Yes, I will keep you. You shall be called "Thunder."'_ As he petted his tiny mount, he glanced back towards the first ranger, who continued speaking.

"Prior to the boy, we had a girl of three-and-ten stay here," Benjen Stark uttered, a dark look crossing his face.

"I can't imagine that going over well with the troops," he replied, inspecting the small assortment of Night's Watchmen he could see. A loud sickly cough emanated from somewhere in the meager looking common hall to his left, and on the covered walkway separating the King's Tower from the Common Hall, he saw several Dragonstone guardsmen, conversing amongst themselves before quieting and turning their attentions towards him. All were equipped with light leather armor and skull white face plates, covered in gray overcoats, fur lined gloves, scarves, and woolen cloaks. At their center was an eerily pale, Yi-Tish looking boy, devoid of his helm, with eyes of dull gold, and an expression hinting of silent judgment.

"It did not," came the whisper, causing Tyrion to wheel his head back towards his 'guide,' "after several 'incidences,' the young girl, Clarysse Paege, wrote to Dragonstone asking for reassignment."

A horrified look stretched across his face, "They did not...?"

"No! They did not. Viserys saw to that," he responded quickly. "He left one brother near death, and severely beat another three of the perpetrators before being restrained."

"What of her guards? Where were they?" he asked.

"They had awaited a comfortable distance away from the privy, within the King's Tower, so the girl could have some privacy. They had been waiting for her…the men…" the first ranger lowered his head, as he spoke.

"How did the former prince become aware of the foul deeds occurring in the privy?" he question, as his interest grew.

"He had been in the space between the rookery," he pointed to his left, with Tyrion's eyes following it towards the building in question, "and the King's Tower. He spoke of hearing a soft 'yelp' before entering the tower and encountering the girl's guards. He informed them of what he had heard, and they had rushed into the hall containing the privy," the first ranger clenched his fists. "There he claims to have encountered Dirk, guarding the door of the privy, whom Viserys had not given a chance to speak, before smashing his mailed fist into the man's face."

"Ah. The boy who would have been king," said Tyrion, "protecting the innocent and saving fair maidens."

"Do not speak of him, in jest, Lannister," he growled. "We came upon Dirk missing teeth, with an eye bulged out of its socket. He had, reportedly, been in a daze, when Viserys had kicked the privy door open. The men, save Thorne, myself, Maester Aemon, the Lord Commander, and a handful of my sworn brothers, would constantly remind him of his now lowly status. For years they had done so, since his arrival, but that day, that time, he followed through with what he had always spoken of as being just under his skin, just beneath his eyes. They had woken the dragon, and my sworn brothers were unable to fend against it."

"What happened to the attempted rapers?" he inquired.

"He encountered three of my… _'brothers,_ '" he spat, "surrounding the girl, as a fourth held her down, gagging her with a bit of an old leather strap. A trail of blood had been trickling down from her head," he said. "It seems she may have suffered a disorienting strike to her skull, before being…confronted." The first ranger remained quiet, observing his surroundings, before revealing more. "Viserys had given them no time to respond it seems, as we later found brother Lophand thrown out of a nearby window, having suffered several broken bones. Brothers Garth of Greenway and the Clubfoot were beaten with a nearby torch stand."

"What did the girl's guards do? How did they assist?" he questioned.

"They were the ones who restrained Viserys, and prevented him from outright killing his fellow 'brothers' remaining in the tower," he replied. "During the ensuing trial, they and the girl, spoke for him, in addition to Maester Aemon, and Allister Thorne, among others. It served to reduce the punishment given, however, it did not wash away the stain of attacking one's own sworn brothers," he sighed. "You must understand, Lannister, prior to the incident he was being groomed for Lord Commander. He may dislike your family and the Baratheons, in particular, the Lady Azula, but Maester Aemon raised him well. He is an honorable man, and he does not harbor as much anger as one would have in his position, as I would have in his position." He remained quiet before inhaling, "Unfortunately, Mormont was forced to have him reassigned as a ranger, in compensation for transferring the offending brothers to Eastwatch by the Sea and the Shadow Tower. He departed for a second ranging, with Ser Waymar Royce, Gared, and Will, the night before I was set to travel to Winterfell. I bid him my goodbyes and wished him a fair journey and he wished the same upon me."

"Pity, he sounds like quite a man, I would have liked to have met him," Tyrion replied, as the first ranger-led him to the lift that would bring them to the top of the Wall.

"Perhaps one day you will," he nodded.

As Tyrion stood there, before the contraption that would raise them to the top, he whispered, "Aren't we going about this too quickly?"

"How so?" the first ranger asked, seemingly confused about the question.

"Well, the Wall is one of the wonders of the world. I would imagine some preparation to be made beforehand. You can't just make love to a woman then and there, you need to get her ready. And I should like the wall to be made ready for her to receive me."

"It's better we go now, before it gets darker and colder, up there, and you find yourself unable to perform," the sworn brother shot back mirthlessly, before cracking a small smile.

"I like you, first ranger Benjen," he proclaimed, as Benjen undid the latch on the lift's small wooden gate.

"After you, Lannister," he mock bowed.

"If you insist," Tyrion responded with a crooked bow of his own.

After boarding the lift, the wood seemed to groan, and the ropes stretched, and tightened, in a snapping sound, before the lift slowly began moving up. In the silence of their ascension, Tyrion spoke, "The boy, Sho Yu?"

"What of him?" questioned Benjen.

"Does he seem…odd, to you?" Tyrion asked, the wind whipping at the lift for a moment, before subsiding, causing Tyrion to bundle up a bit more.

"I suppose. He rarely speaks, but then again, many of my brothers rarely speak with each other," he responded. "No. The only thing I find odd about him is that he constantly meditates, like the girl before him."

Tyrion stroked his chin in thought, "A very private boy then?"

"Yes, mostly. He has been known to interact, from time to time, with Viserys and the Lord Commander, but other than them, he remains distant, yet polite. His guards, however, could be considered slightly hostile, especially after the incident with their previous charge," he stated.

"So I imagine," he responded, as the lift began nearing its destination.

"There is one amongst his guards, the largest one bearing full plate, who does not speak," Benjen indicated, "and apparently is rumored to never even be seen to sleep, or even breathe." He looked towards him, before adding, "He was not with the group you observed on the walkway."

"How interesting," Tyrion said, "assuming it's true?"

"It may very well be," he supposed, "but what does it matter? All that matters is if he can fight should anything happen."

"True enough. So where is our large, sleepless, armored friend?" he said as the lift reached the top and revealed a large armored man, a head shorter than Ser Gregor, waiting in a heavy set of gold trimmed, black and red plate. The figure's helmet and face plate were skull-like in appearance, and the eye slits were curved downward, narrowed at the edges. The vertical mouth slits sloped downward in a menacing frown. "Seven-hells!" he exclaimed, the large man startling him. Tyrion saw the man look him over, before suddenly turning, and returning towards the opposite end of the wall. "Does he always greet people off the lift like that?"

"He heard the lift start, and came to investigate," Benjen said, before continuing, "He stands a silent vigil, eyes always watching the far north."

"In that particular spot?" Tyrion asked as that looked like a prime spot to piss over the edge of the world.

"He has been known to patrol as far west as the Nightfort and as far east as Sable Hall," Benjen said, casting one last look at the silent, heavily armored, sentinel, before gazing back towards him.

"Alone?!" Tyrion asked skeptically.

"Yes. He does so without hesitation, and on the command of the boy," he answered. "The Lady of Dragonstone wants to be appraised of any situations should they arise, and the boy writes to her every fortnight."

' _Seems a tad excessive,'_ Tyrion thought.

"The Lord Commander obliges her and allows the man to patrol as he will. The old gods know we can barely do it ourselves. She has even offered to send more men to Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, to augment our numbers, as soon as they are ready to receive and house them," Benjen continued.

"Quite a lot of power our dear Lady from Dragonstone has acquired within the watch," Tyrion observed.

"She is the only one other than my brother to consider the watch worth much of anything. Her shipments of food and clothing have done much to aid us, although, it appears to be all for naught," Benjen said. "We have not had a wildling incursion in nearly eight years, nothing comes from the north anymore. No words, no whispers, nothing."

"A bit ominous don't you think?" Tyrion asked, a sudden gust of wind bringing him back to the realization that it was obscenely cold up there.

"I agree with you, Lannister," he replied, "but even our rangings have turned up empty handed. No attacks, no words of imminent attacks, or even mysterious disappearances. Everything remains, still…"

Tyrion exchanged glances with the first ranger, before looking back to where the sentinel was, or had been. "Where in the hells did he go?"

"He has proven to be quite silent when he wishes to be," Benjen said, as Tyrion rushed forward to look down the carved footpaths atop the wall. As he looked towards the east end, he saw the large man, fading into the cold mist.


	17. (King's Landing) Ned II

(King's Landing: 7/31/298 AC) Ned II

' _It's hot, I'm tired, and I'm starving,'_ Ned thought to himself, before adding, _'and in desperate need of a hot bath.'_ He and several of his household guard had entered through the Dragon gate of King's Landing, along with the Lady Azula and her small group of Flameguard. The rest of his household had arrived through the Gate of the Gods, as Ned had not wished to let them see the possible remaining carnage from the fire. _'They will be safe,'_ Ned thought, _'Jory is with them.'_

Several days past, a rider had come in the night, bringing news of a small fire having broken out in the Eastern Barracks, of the Gold Cloaks, by the Dragon Gate. As they grew closer to the gate, Ned noticed thin slivers of grey smoke still rising from the ruins of the top levels of the burnt out building. He heard a horse come up next to his own, as a breeze wafted a fruity, floral scent into his nose, drowning out the fetid smell of the city. Following the pleasant aroma was a smooth, refined, voice.

"They had said it was small fire, which sparked in the kitchens," the Lady Azula whispered, eyeing the damage, as she rode with him around the barracks. Several gold cloaks were scattered about, removing debris and assorted items from the streets. The group's entrance into the city had held little audience due to the City Watch having cordoned off the area, several days prior, to quench the flames and restore order. The bodies had long since been removed.

"It may have been small, my lady," he added, "but the Commander of the City Watch and several of his officers were reportedly caught by the flames."

"A tragedy, to be sure," the Lady of Dragonstone stated, somewhat unconvincingly, "and somewhat baffling."

"How so?" He asked, wondering what she was getting at.

"The Gold Cloaks have barracks within the Red Keep, and Commander Slynt would rarely travel out," she clarified. "So what was he was doing with his officers here in the Eastern barracks? I suppose he was merely doing inspections?" she questioned, bringing her hand to her chin in a thoughtful manner. "As Commander of the City Watch, I assume that would have been one of his responsibilities as commander, would it not?"

"I should hope so, my Lady," he answered, thinking the question reasonable. He observed the Lady Azula continuing to analyze the scene before she yawned, and continued speaking.

"Truthfully though, what does it matter? He was corrupt anyways," the Lady Azula stated. "Many a murderer, and rapist, escaped justice by simply offering him coin, Lord Stark," she stated, after spying a stray cat prowling the nearby alley. "You are better off never having dealt with that frog-faced man. Besides, Lord Arryn sought his removal, you know?"

He looked at her, as his mind swirled with thoughts and memories of his late foster-father, eyes telling her to continue.

"Lord Arryn had two men prepared to come forward, accusing Slynt and his officers of taking bribes and selling positions, before the two had suddenly died on their rounds," Azula resumed. "He had even presented proofs of Slynt's 'activities' before the small council, only for his Grace to shrug them away."

"How do you know this?" he asked, glancing towards the Lady of Dragonstone, and awaiting her response.

"Stannis told me," she replied, glancing at him. "If I am to live here, Lord Stark, then my safety is of the utmost importance to me, and him. If he tells me the Commander of the City Watch is corrupt, then I will know to not trust the man."

"What reasoning did the King give for ignoring the proofs?" he asked, curious on why Robert had allowed such corruption in his city.

'"They all steal," she answered. '"Better a thief we know than one we don't, the next man might be worse." The Lady of Dragonstone cast a grim expression towards him, before adding, "Those were Robert's words as my husband had heard them. Even as he told me, I knew as well as he did, that Baelish's words were in the King's mouth." The Lord of Winterfell looked at the Lady of Dragonstone, as she turned her attention back down towards the rubble, pondering if she had spoken truly before he saw her lift her head away from the debris. "And here comes the royal door greeter," she uttered.

As he turned to follow her eyes, he saw a small, somewhat richly dressed man, guarded by three gold cloaks, approaching him. Several of his household guard grew closer, prepared to defend against any threats. _'Good men,'_ he thought. "Do you recognize him, my Lady?"

"Yes," she replied. "He is a royal steward, I forget his name, but he has no doubt been sent to retrieve you for a small council meeting."

"To discuss Slynt's replacement?" he asked, knowing Robert had broached him about the subject when they had heard news of the fire.

"Most likely," the Lady Azula replied, eyes focused on the man as he grew closer.

"Welcome, Lord Stark," the man said, clasping his hands behind his back, and giving a small bow. "Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the small council, and the honor of your presence is requested."

He had grown somewhat annoyed at being unable to properly investigate the fire, but he understood the importance of electing a new Commander of the City Watch.

"If you wish, Lord Stark," the smooth voice offered, "my guard and I will be honored to escort you to the Red Keep."

"The offer is appreciated, my Lady, but I would not wish to impose," he answered, nodding his head in gratitude.

"Nonsense! It is quite alright," she replied, "as I was already planning to head there, to speak with my Lord Husband, anyways," she explained.

"Very well," he answered, giving her a small smile, "I would appreciate the company."

The royal steward cleared his throat, catching their attention, before he spoke, "If you would both like to change into something more appropriate?"

Both he and the Lady Azula, stared at the man, before he understood, and retreated back, with his guard, to wherever it was they had come. Together they rode around the ruins of the Dragonpit and the base of Rhaenys' Hill before they entered flea bottom. His household guard and the Lady Azula's Flameguard closed up, forming a protective shield around them. The majority of the small folk rushed out of their path, and he heard the Lady Azula sigh, before she spoke, "The Butcher of Shipbreaker,' is not a title I am proud of, Lord Stark, but it at least allows us for a fairly unmolested ride."

He thought on her title and still wondered if there was truth to it. The majority of her crew had remained silent on the event, with only a few ever uttering a single word. Of the few that had, they told of how the Lady of Dragonstone had offered mercy to the survivors of the destroyed Redwyne fleet, only to be betrayed once the survivors had been allowed aboard. The garrison at Storm's End had been too far to see what had transpired, and so the only word Eddard Stark and the rest of the realm could go by was the word of the Lady Azula. Nevertheless, slithering throughout the realm were rumors of the Lady Azula's ferocity and ruthlessness. _'Rumors which Cat believed to be true,'_ he thought. Even as he contemplated their legitimacy, Ned knew the houses of the Reach bore a pure hatred for the Lady of Dragonstone due to the humiliating defeat she had handed them in the war. _'They were the likeliest culprits in spreading those foul words,'_ he supposed.

Ahead of his group, and blocked by their guards, a handful of smallfolk approached. A woman, within the group, bearing a small child of what appeared to be eight namedays, pleaded for the Lady Azula's attention and called out her name, "My Lady Azula?! My Lady Azula?! The Savior of Storm's End!" The wife of Stannis Baratheon turned towards the woman. "We beg of you to grant us passage to Dragonstone," the woman said, after having gained Lady Azula's attention. "My daughter, whom I have named in your honor, is very weak and hungry. We will work for food and a roof over our heads." Towards the back of the group, a man shouted, "I will work the fields, clean the stables, whatever you wish!"

The Lady Azula raised her hand, in a placating gesture, before declaring, "All people are welcome on Dragonstone, but I have business to attend to within the Red Keep." She turned towards one of her Flameguard, "Ser Justin!" she beckoned.

A lone, large Flameguard approached the Lady Azula and her mount. "Yes, My Lady?" the knight answered, before lifting his bone white faceplate, revealing a clean shaven man with rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and a head of neatly cut pale blonde hair.

The Lady Azula reached into the coin purse, strapped to her side, and presented several coins of silver and gold to the Dragonstone guardsman. "Take these," she said, dropping a few coins into the man's hands. "See to it that each of them receives a gold piece each," she ordered. "And as for the girl and her mother," Azula began, glancing at the child and mother, "bring them along, to make sure they are fed."

"As you command, my Lady," the knight replied, bowing his head, and lowering his white faceplate. Ser Justin took the coins and began distributing a gold piece to each individual within the small crowd.

"I cannot promise you a time in which I will address your requests," Lady Azula proclaimed, "but rest assured they will be addressed."

"Thank you, my lady! Thank you! May the Seven watch over you!" they cried, gradually dispersing upon receiving a gold piece from the fair knight.

The Lady of Dragonstone looked to the mother and child, who had remained, "I would be honored if the both of you would join us on our travel to the city center. Ser Justin will be more than happy to escort you to find something to eat, from there."

The little girl's eyes lit up, causing Ned to smile slightly. "You are truly blessed, my Lady," the woman uttered reverently, as the fair knight took to his steed and raised the small girl to ride with him. The girl's mother remained at the Ser Justin's side.

As they continued their march down through the Street of Sisters, to the city center, the Lady Azula offered a suggestion to the Knight, "I have yet to visit, but I hear Xai Bau's serves a soothing tea, that pairs well with the pork dumplings." Ned saw her cast a look towards the girl, before playfully adding, "And if they can, Ser Justin, have them bake some cherry custard tarts for the girl." The Lady of Dragonstone paused, winking towards the little girl, who licked her lips. "Also, make sure they remove the pits," she added, before whispering to him, "I hate when I find those in my tarts." She turned back towards the fair Knight and ordered, "Once they have eaten, and you have escorted them back to flea bottom, meet back with me in the Red Keep."

"Without fail, my Lady," Ser Justin nodded his head.

As they neared the city center, Ned noticed several commoners pause to stare at them, whispering amongst themselves, with others scrambling out of the Lady Azula's path. While surveying his surroundings, he caught sight of a little boy perched on the rooftops looking at him, before vanishing back beyond his sight.

"Varys' little birds," the Lady Azula revealed, causing him to turn towards her. "In King's Landing, when you think you are alone, you are not alone. Be wary."

As he thought on Azula's warning, his attention was drawn to the little girl riding with Ser Justin. He did not know how long she had been staring at the Lady of Dragonstone, but Azula appeared to be oblivious to it. As the Lady rode, he saw how she held herself, strong and proud, and as he looked towards the girl, he saw an innocent smile form on her little face. _'She reminds me of when Arya first saw Ursa,'_ he remembered.

Upon nearing the city center, Ser Justin, spoke, "By your leave, My Lady, I will escort them to Cobbler's square where Xai Bau's teashop resides."

"Go," the Lady of Dragonstone replied. "We will speak again in the Red Keep," she instructed before the knight bowed and steered right. As he, the child, and woman, slowly merged into the throng of people going about their business, Ser Justin and the child remained high above the crowd atop his black charger.

His gaze shifted to the imposing form of the Red Keep, and the equally large shadow that it cast.

"Ready to revisit the place where we first met, Lord Stark?" questioned the Lady Azula, as they set down the path towards the Red Keep.

"No," he answered plainly, "Not in the slightest."

Their procession to Red Keep had been relatively silent, even with their weaving through the crowds. Then she spoke, as they near the archway leading into the Keep. "Lord Stark, if I may?"

"Yes?" he replied, his eyes still surveying the home of his friend, the King. The towers jutted into the sky, as the gulls were heard cawing in the distance.

"A suggestion for Commander of the City Watch?" she responded, causing him to turn his attention towards her.

"Who did you have in mind?" he asked, face grim.

"If I felt the men would have accepted it, I would have suggested myself," she replied. "However, I know they will not, so if you would perhaps consider Lee, one of my Commanders?"

"Commander Lee?" he asked, knowing little of the man. He recalled the man having served during the Greyjoy Rebellion and the Stepstones, but had never dealt with him directly.

"Yes. He is a straight forward man that has a mind for tactics and strategy. He is one of our best instructors at the Grand Academy, and I know my husband will suggest the same, knowing he would be the best choice. He also tutored my son Ser Steffon. Teaching him the ways of honor and service," Azula answered.

"I have yet to meet this Commander Lee, or your son," he said, "who Bran thinks the world of."

"He is a good son, strong, honorable, and with a good heart," he noticed the last part her words catching in the Lady Azula's throat, causing her voice to break slightly. Quickly, she recovered, and continued, "Like your sons. Like Bran, who during the course of our journey, let me know how he wished to be my son's squire," the Lady Azula let the statement hang in the air, like the floral scent that surrounded her. "I could speak to him, you know? It is no bother."

"I should like to meet him first, before I consider it," he said while trying to form a picture of the young knight from what he had seen of Stannis, Azula, and their daughter Ursa.

"Of course, I would expect nothing less," she answered.

Before long, he and the Lady Azula, along with their guard, entered into the Red Keep. Passing beneath the raised portcullis, nestled between two guard towers. Handlers greeted them, holding the reigns of their horses, as they all dismounted.

"Greetings again, Lord Stark," bowed the small man, from earlier, who had somehow managed to arrive before the rest of them.

"Where is the King, and the rest of my household?" Ned questioned, his voice sounding like ice.

"His grace is still touring the city, and your household is making its way here, as we speak," the small man replied. "However, the small council still awaits your presence, Lord Hand."

"Yes, I know," he answered, still somewhat annoyed at the summons taking away from his investigation. The small man bowed, and disappeared yet again, back to where he had come.

"Come, Lord Stark," the Lady Azula stated, staring after the form of the retreating man, "there is a room of opportunistic men awaiting another man, like my husband, to reign them in."

A small snort of amusement escaped him, causing the Lady Azula to snort as well. "Oh, my!" she brought her hand up to her mouth, "how unbecoming of a lady!" The Lady Azula smiled, and looked sheepishly towards him, before growing a serious expression, "Tell no one, Lord Stark."

Ned's face returned to its stoic, natural state. "You have my word, My Lady," he stated, before presenting a bow towards her. Even as this briefly bizarre exchange transpired, he found himself, even more, conflicted on his thoughts of the Lady Azula. _'She was known for her keen intelligence, both in matters of war and trade. Her actions in the rebellion had earned her a reputation as both a hero and villain, in the songs and tales of both the former rebels and Targaryen loyalists. Doubly so in the Greyjoy rebellion, and yet here she was…'_ his mind trailed off as he stared at her, smiling at him, responding to his earnest reply. _'Smiling at me, being normal,'_ he finished. The thoughts felt odd, swimming in his mind.

So lost in thought was he, that he failed to notice when they arrived at the small council chambers. He heard an arrogant voice shatter the silent contemplation of his mind. "The Butcher of Shipbreaker Bay escorting the honorable Eddard Stark? I do not believe I was ever going to see the day when you would cast aside your honor to be in the pleasant company of someone with a reputation bloodier than my Lord father's," proclaimed Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the Kingsguard who murdered the king he was sworn to, Aerys Targaryen.

"There are worse people to be in the company of, than your father, Kingslayer," he spat, eyeing the Kingslayer and the dozen red Lannister guard, flanking him. "Lady Azula is not one of them."

"Oh come now, Lord Stark, have you never heard of 'The Fires of Shipbreaker' or 'The Storm Queen's wrath?' or the best one, by far, the one of the Tarly boy? What was it?" the Kingslayer retorted.

"Careful, Kingslayer," the Lady Azula growled, all previous signs of mirth having disappeared from her face, only to be replaced by a face wrought of steel. "Those are rumors perpetuated by enemies whose distaste for me is quite well known. I will not have my name sullied with accusations of murdered children. I am not Tywin Lannister."

"'The Broken Huntsman!'" the Kingslayer declared, having seemingly ignored Lady Azula's warning. "But we both know it should really be, 'The Broken Huntsboy.' Although, I am not entirely certain such a title exists, perhaps just 'The Broken Boy?" The Kingslayer raised his eyebrow with a smirk.

The Lady Azula's face was cold, but he saw the fury in her eyes, as she responded, "Or perhaps a new song shall be written of 'The Melted Kingslayer?'"

"Sounds like a very interesting song," the Kingslayer stated. "It's too bad you are a woman, I would like to have challenged you, blade to blade," he continued, a smile still plastered on his face. Ned noticed the Kingslayer's hands beginning to drift towards his sword, with the Lannister guard quickly following his example.

"You wouldn't be as much of a challenge as you think you'd be, Kingslayer," the Lady of Dragonstone replied in a low hiss. Soon enough all found their hands drifting towards their blades before the doors to the Small Council Chamber swung open.

"What in the seven-hells is going on out here?!" came the roaring voice of Stannis Baratheon.


	18. (King's Landing) Cersei I

(King's Landing: 7/31/298 AC) Cersei I

"Where is he?" Cersei muttered to no one in particular, as she paced around her sumptuous chambers, all decorated in various shades of bloody reds and glittering golds. Red, silken, curtains swayed in the breeze, with the numerous candles swaying alongside them. The only hint of Baratheon influence were the dual banners of the dancing stag and lion, draped on either side of the entrance to her royal apartment. _'It's getting late,_ ' she worried, making her way to the balcony and staring out, down towards the shit smelling city. She had dismissed her handmaidens an hour ago, after being unable to stand looking at them for another instant. _'Useless, they are all useless,'_ she thought. Her plan to get a rise out of Stannis' bitch had apparently failed, after she had received word of the whore arriving to their room several hours ago. In spite of this, she had received no news of Jaime, and it grew troublesome, until she heard a knock at her chamber door. She spun on her heels, and patted herself down to flatten her dress. "Yes?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister, your grace," stated Godwyn, one of her Lannister guardsmen.

"Let him in," she answered, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. The door creaked open, revealing her beautiful, beloved brother.

"Your grace," he bowed, flashing his handsome smile. "If it would not be too much of a request, I should like to speak with my sister."

"Of course," she replied, eyeing Godwyn, "leave us." Her Lannister guardsmen brought his fist to his chest, bowed, and retreated back through the door, shutting it after himself.

The moment the door shut, Jaime began to walk towards her, and a part of her wanted to fall into his arms, but she had more pressing concerns. "What happened?" she demanded, causing Jaime to stop dead in his tracks, a slight smile still at his lips.

"Nothing. She did not take the bait, but she seemed to have wanted me to think she had," her brother replied, gazing at her. "Azula Baratheon is a warrior, no doubt about that. Had I been less experienced in battle I may have missed the subtle changes in her stance. Her control was almost perfect, but she was not getting ready to strike at me. She was preparing to defend Stark."

"So she sees Stark as an ally, as she had Jon Arryn?" she questioned, pacing around her small dining table, tracing the designs across its surface. _'The plan had been simple, enrage the bitch, and have her attack Jaime. With all of the witnesses, he would have been within his rights to strike her down for attacking a member of the Kingsguard, thus removing that particular thorn from my side. Simple, and yet it failed,'_ Cersei thought in contempt.

"It is almost a certainty, as her position is dependent on Stannis' own, and Stannis position is less than Lord Paramount," Jaime answered.

"She is fishing for allies," Cersei noted, "and if Jon Arryn suspected the truth, then surely she and Stannis do as well?"

"Perhaps," Jaime answered, the frustration evident in his voice. She knew why he had really come, but she needed this done with. "They had never been seen speaking together save for the few times in court, but Arryn's topics of discussion had always been the same. Asking after Stannis' children, the fleet, and the academy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Only once was Jon Arryn rumored to have been speaking of fostering his son on Dragonstone, but that never amounted to anything, seeing as he died shortly thereafter."

"She knows something, Jaime," she whispered menacingly. "It was no mere coincidence that she was waiting outside of the broken tower. I can feel it."

"Perhaps you are overthinking it, sweet sister? It is entirely possible that she really knows nothing, and pursuing her in this regard may alert her to something," he stated, walking over to the fruit bowl atop the small dining table. He procured a few purple arbor grapes, and popped them into his mouth.

"I am not overthinking it!" she hissed, moving to sit down on her gilded chair. "I am Queen, and I cannot leave anything to chance."

"Azula was never seen accompanying Jon Arryn, during his investigations, into Robert's bastards. Neither was Stannis, for that matter," Jaime whispered harshly. "Lord Arryn was alone."

"I know, Varys said as much, but still…" her voice trailed off before snapping back into focus. "Father should have just let her die when he had the chance."

"You know why he didn't?" Jaime questioned.

"A Lannister always pays their debts," she replied with the popular Lannister phrase, often confused for their house words.

"Exactly, what else could father have done? Her assistance prevented the fires at Lannisport from engulfing the entire town. Hundreds had been spared, and had she not arrived with her soldiers to put out the flames, then it would have cost father far more to repair, than it otherwise would have been. Not to mention, how she had allowed her friend, Ty Lee, to establish a small recovery area for treating the wounded. The Bronze statue, the people of Lannisport erected for them, still remains you know?"

"Yes," she grumbled, glaring at her beloved, "a wonderful tribute to the bitch and her whore friend. But my point still stands, father should have let her die. Just that once he should have set his own pride aside and let her claw and thrash her way into a much needed early grave." She saw her brother preparing to respond before she nearly screamed at him, "She hates father, and she hates our family! Father, of all people, should know this! Especially after he convinced Jon Arryn to encourage Robert into granting Stannis Dragonstone instead of Storm's End!"

"She has yet to show any sort of animosity towards us for that presumed slight. She could have left Lannisport to burn, and moved on to crush the Ironborn with Stannis, but she did not. If she had hated us as much as you claim, then Lannisport would've been left to becoming a smoking ruin. I love you sweet sister, but what evidence makes you so certain that she is working against us, that she knows?"

"I don't need any evidence! I know because it is what I would do," she rubbed at her temples, on the verge of dismissing Jaime out of frustration, before another knock sounded at her door. "What is it?!" she snapped.

"Grand Maester Pycelle, your grace," stated Godwyn, apprehensively.

"Come in," she answered, lowering her hands to her lap. As the door creaked open, she heard the rattling of Pycelle's chain.

"Oh! Your grace," he mumbled, crooking forward to bow, before seeing Jaime, "I did not know you had company, I can return later if you wish?"

Pycelle had begun to hobble his way out of her chambers. "No! Stay, and deliver your report," she commanded, wishing to know what had occurred during Ned Stark's first council meeting.

"As you command, your grace," the old man glanced towards her brother, before grunting as he slowly shuffled towards her.

"What was discussed during the small council meeting?"

"Well, your grace, Commander Slynt's replacement, and the Hand's tourney, were what the council placed its energy into discussing. As well as the status of the Crowned Fleet, and the new 'Empire Class Battleship,' the Lady Azula is having built on Dragonstone. The current financial standing of the royal treasury, also held some interest for Lord Stark."

"Slynt's replacement," she stated plainly, "Has anyone put forth a name?" _'I need someone loyal to me, maybe Vylarr or Ser Ilyn, perhaps Jaime if possible, before the others cast their own ideas on who would best fill the position,'_ she thought.

"Lords Stannis and Renly have put forth the name of the Commander of the Dragonstone household guard the Lady Azula brought with her, Commander Lee," he muttered. "Both of them have even offered to fill the vacancies, left by deceased city watch officers, with some of their own men from Dragonstone and Storm's End. Both claimed that the city watch needed to be comprised of men whose loyalty to the king could not be swayed with coin. Lord Baelish seemed to have taken offense to the statement."

"Of course he did," she scoffed, "What did Stark say?"

"The Lord Hand," Pycelle shifted uncomfortably, "was open to the suggestion for Commander Lee, upon meeting the man. As for the vacancies, he agreed, wholeheartedly."

She felt Jaime lower himself to whisper into her ear, "We should write to father, and request more Lannister guards."

"He will want a reason," she whispered back, "and the only reason we can give him cannot be delivered by raven. It will need to be delivered personally."

She heard Pycelle clear his throat, "As for the Hand's Tourney, Lord Stark has suspended all talk of it, until he spoke with his Grace, King Robert. He claimed it put undue strain on the treasury that the crown could not afford, especially with the royal debt nearing five million."

"How much of the debt is owed to my father?" she questioned.

"I believe Lord Baelish spoke of a figure somewhere in the vicinity of two million?"

"And the rest?" she asked, her beloved shifting at her side.

"One million to the Iron Bank, and," he stuttered, sneering as he spoke, "two million to the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis."

"The Red temple," she growled. "Why in the seven hells, does that bloody cult follow that woman?"

"I am unsure, your grace," Pycelle babbled, seemingly disturbed by the question, before he scoffed. "Those fanatics are dangerous, and they cannot be trusted."

' _Yes they are, and their loyalty to her seems unshakeable,'_ she thought in irritation. Cersei rose from her seat, causing both Jaime and the Grand Maester to straighten themselves. "You are dismissed, Grand Maester. I will speak with my brother alone."

"As you command, your Grace," the old maester bent forwards as much as he could in a poor attempt at a bow. As he slowly made his way to the door, Cersei called out, "Godwyn!"

"Yes, your Grace?" answered Godwyn, as he opened the door. "Please see the Grand Maester out, and make sure he does not lose his way."

Godwyn bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Shall I post someone at the door?"

"No need, I have the best swordsman in Westeros protecting me," she stated, causing Jaime to perk up slightly.

"As you command, your Grace," he replied, reaching out a hand to help steady Pycelle.

"Oh thank you, young man," Pycelle reached for his arm and both saw themselves out, shutting the entryway behind them.

As soon as the door shut, she felt him place his hand on the curve of her back. Her passion nearly overcame her anger and annoyance. "Not now!"

She heard him sigh in exasperation, "Must you tempt me so?"

"We cannot be distracted," she felt his strong hands take her by the waist, as he kissed the base of her neck. "Gods damn you Jaime Lannister," she uttered halfheartedly, before turning around and placing her lips fully against his. "We must be quick," she said through labored breaths, "we need to select someone to send word to father."

"Don't worry, my love," Jaime touched and kissed her with such passion and hunger, that she could almost believe that nothing else mattered. "Father will get word of our need for more guards," he stated, as he lifted her up and carried her towards her bed.


	19. (King's Landing) Lady Stork III

(King's Landing: 7/31/298 AC) Lady Stork III

"Can you believe that fool tried to goad me on?" the Firelord questioned, with an incredulous look lining her fair features. The Lady Azula was still baffled by her earlier incident, with the Kingslayer, outside the small council chambers. From the moment Stork had been summoned from the servant's quarters partly past midday, to the Firelord's chambers, the Firelord had spoken endlessly of the event. The woman who had once been heir to an entire world sat upon an ornately carved, black wooden chair. The sweet scent that seemed to follow her everywhere, lingered in the air, mixed in with the smell of a pot of still steaming tea on a nearby table. The Lady of Dragonstone was clad in a red silken robe, with black flames embroidered throughout the golden cuffs and collar of the robe. A blood red sash served to fasten the robe to her waist, which helped to accentuate her shapely hips and keep her naked form underneath from spilling forth.

' _She knows she is beautiful,'_ Lady Stork thought. _'Seven-hells, I know she is beautiful,'_ she remembered, thinking of how she would oft find herself staring at her reflection, during those times she was ordered to assume the Firelord's form. _'I was once a decent mummer_ , _and now look at me! Brushing the hair of my very rich, very spoiled, very dangerous, patron, like some lowly servant.'_ She glanced down towards the two 'women' who were scrubbing the Firelord's feet over a small basin of water. A third woman was to her left, occupied with filing the Lady Azula's nails. _'She only gets this prepared for three things, and seeing as the day is nearing its end, it is not preparation for a new day, nor for some courtly affair. It was preparation for something else, something baser,'_ she shuddered at the thought. Her three companions were silent, and wore strange masks, half smoky gray, and half ghostly white, with black tracings. They bore hoods and torn robes, with oddly patterned dressings beneath. At their sides, laid upon the floor, were curved short swords with a silver five-pronged flame decorating the cross guard. All were sheathed within black leather scabbards, with a silver tip towards the end sharing the swirling design of the three women's dressings. _'The Kemurikage,'_ she uttered their title in her mind, _'a legend from the Firelord's home country.'_ They unnerved her, the silence, and the blank stares. They could seemingly emerge from the shadows, and indeed they had, that night when the Lady Azula had informed her of her imminent departure to Winterfell.

* * *

(King's Landing: 2/26/298 AC) Lady Stork III

The Firelord had summoned her, and she did not tolerate tardiness. She rushed up, from the servant's quarters to the apartment of the Master of Ships. There she stood, slightly winded, before the large silent guard. _'One of Qyburn's Repurposed,_ ' she knew. For a few moments, he did nothing but study her, before he removed himself from her path. She knocked twice, and heard Lord Stannis' brusque reply, "Enter." As she pressed the door open, she noticed only two torch stands being lit. One burned beside Lord Stannis' desk, who had been writing something in silence, and the other flared blue, behind the Lady Azula. The Firelord stood on the balcony, her hands resting on the stone railing, staring out towards the city. The light from the fires gave birth to long shadows that crept across the room. The red and blue hues caused by the flames presented a stark contrast between the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone. Lord Stannis' rigid features were seemingly sharpened by the crimson flame at his side. The ornate desk, on which he was currently working, and the nearby bookshelf, whose knowledge he would continually review, added a sense of harsh symmetry, and order to his person. The azure flames, on the other hand, danced behind the Firelord, swaying with her silk gown, and the lavish curtains that separated them. The Firelord appeared as a spirit, behind the thin cloth of the flowing draperies. The flames swirled and flickered, unsure, and unstable. The light was soft, and fluid, not as unforgiving as Stannis' own. _'Perhaps that was the point?'_ she wondered before she corrected herself, _'Perhaps that was the illusion the Firelord wanted to convey? She controlled the fire after all…'_

As the drapes rippled in the night breeze, she heard her. "Lady Stork," the Firelord spoke, straightening herself, "come here." As she approached, she felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine and the strange sense of hidden eyes following her every move. She cast a quick glance back towards Lord Stannis and saw his attention still focused on the parchment before him. She hesitated as she took her place at the Firelord's side, still shivering at thought of what was unseen. For a moment the Lady of Dragonstone remained silent before she waved her hand. Chains began to rattle, and out from behind the swaying curtains, hidden in the shadow of the archway, to either side of her, materialized two figures. "Look at them," the Firelord ordered. She turned to gaze at the two forms at her sides, taking in their odd style of dress and unnervingly symmetrical masks. "Don't forget the one behind you," the Lady of Dragonstone whispered. Goosebumps coursed over her arms, as she turned to face the third unseen shade. The third form stood between the swaying draperies, slightly tilting its head to the side, like a child discovering a new toy. "Memorize her face," Azula had commanded the three, whose gazes towards her had not faltered. "She is to be allowed safe passage, if she bears my token, and places it in the correct position." The Lady Azula turned away from the balcony, with the one behind them yielding to the Firelord, and standing aside to let her pass back into the room. The two at her sides grew closer, pushing her to follow the Firelord. She felt their blank gazes boring into her, as she stepped past the one in between the curtains. As she passed beneath the archway, she felt the three close up behind her, stalking her, with the slight rattle of chains constantly reminding her that they were there. She had wanted to launch into a series of questions of, 'Why she was here?' 'When had they arrived?' and 'For what purpose?' However, as before, she knew questions only served to make the Firelord suspicious. Once the Lady Azula arrived at Lord Stannis' desk, she snatched a small Pai Sho piece, emblazoned with the Firenation emblem, off of it. The Lord of Dragonstone glanced up, seemingly annoyed, before he looked back down, and returned to his writing. The Firelord held up the piece for her and the three shadows behind her, "My token," she stated. "Stork, I hope you remembered your lessons in Pai Sho?"

"Yes, Firelord," she replied, her skills had atrophied somewhat, but she still understood the basics of the game played in the Firelord's home country. A game similar to Cyvasse, yet with its own oddities and figures. She remembered the Firelord having introduced the game to Ser Steffon and Lord Stannis, both of which took to it with fervor. The former because he enjoyed playing something from his mother's home, and the latter because it amused him to best the Firelord.

"Good. As soon as you enter this room, you will find a small table placed in front of you. On it, will be a Pai Sho board, set with variations of the 'Iroh Gambit.' You will have no more than a minute to place the fire tile down for the correct counter, otherwise…' the Firelord looked over her shoulder, towards the three specters at her back. "Well, that does not need to be elaborated on. But I would be severely disappointed, of course."

"Of course," she replied humourlessly, knowing the Firelord would see her death as a minor inconvenience.

"Now I am sure you have a multitude of questions swimming around up there, but I will answer only the ones relevant to your position. After Lord Arryn's death, I called for them," Lady Azula nodded towards the three, "along with several more repurposed and a dozen Firenation guard. Thoros is a passable Flameguard that my husband holds in high regard, for some reason. A reason he has yet to elaborate on," the Firelord shot a questioning glance towards Lord Stannis, who remained silently writing. "Well, he might not value his own life, but I do, and I will not have my husband suffer a case of sudden death while I am away. Besides, only I have the right to kill him for that horrendous choice of colors for our beddings."

Stannis rose at that, "You may find comfort sleeping in Lannister colors, but I do not."

"They were the colors of the Firenation, of my family, long before the Lannisters claimed them," Azula chided.

"This is Westeros, not the Firenation."

A shocked expression briefly crossed the Lady Azula's face, before she narrowed her eyes and frowned. "More's the pity," the Firelord replied, holding her lord husband's gaze for a moment before she turned back towards her. She heard Stannis sigh before the sound of quill on parchment continued. "As I was saying, you will need to place the correct counter, so they," she nodded towards the Kemurikage, "will allow you to enter. I am quite certain several individuals in King's Landing will see my absence as an opportunity to raid my pantry, and I seek to encourage that illusion. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to catch a spider or a mockingbird?" She heard a snort of amusement come from Lord Stannis' direction, and yet she had not seen him lift his head. The Firelord flashed her predatory smile, before continuing, "You are to follow my husband's orders as if they were my own. You will come to this room, when Stannis summons you, to serve as is its caretaker. All messages, my husband and I write, will be sent through hawk, and they will be sent from and received here. So if Stannis is not present, then you must always be here, ready to receive them."

* * *

(King's Landing: 7/31/298 AC) Lady Stork III

"Stop there," the Firelord ordered to the Kemurikage filing her nails. She saw the Firelord assess them, and their sharpness, by lightly scratching at the palm of her hand. "Good, not too sharp, not too dull, just enough…" the Lady Azula's voice lingered a bit towards the end, as a mischievous grin tugged at her lips. The Firelord looked down, towards her feet, and frowned slightly, "Just a bit more. I do not want the night I have planned to be marred by poor foot hygiene." The Firelord snapped her head towards the door, impatiently tapping the base of her finger against the armrest of her chair. "By the way, can someone tell me where in the spirit world my husband is? That meeting should have been over hours ago. I have just recently arrived from a long trip, and I require attention."

Lady Stork felt some degree of sympathy for Lord Stannis. The demands the Firelord placed upon those under her command, were outrageously stressful. However, she could scarcely imagine how Lord Stannis felt, holding the 'special' position of being husband to the Firelord. Just then, she heard the door click, and sway open, revealing the Lord of Dragonstone. As the door shut behind him, the Kemurikage all rose and reached for their blades. Stannis remained at the foot of the small table holding the Pai Sho board. He glanced at it quickly, before he reached over and placed the Firenation token in its correct place. The Kemurikage studied the placement before relaxing and returning to their duties. One stood by Lady Azula's side, after completing her task of filing the Firelord's nails, while the other two continued scrubbing her feet dutifully.

She saw Lord Stannis cross the room, towards his desk, laying down several rolls of parchment he had strapped to his side. "After the small council meeting had adjourned, Lord Stark wished to speak with Renly and I, on Commander Lee, and the rumors of Slynt's duplicity."

The Firelord perked up, "And what did your dear brother say?"

"He held true," Stannis replied, heading for the steaming pot of tea placed upon an adjacent table. "He agreed with me," he said, as he lifted the teapot off of the low flame, "that Slynt was untrustworthy." Lord Stannis poured part of the pot's contents into a nearby, small ceramic teacup, before he continued, "And that Lee was the only choice for his replacement."

"Good. Let's hope he remains true. The King doesn't need his rule undermined by ambitious individuals like your brother," the Firelord stated. Lord Stannis nodded his response and sipped at his tea. "That being said," Lady Azula looked towards her Kemurikage. "You three, stand guard on the balcony, and lower the heavy curtains." The Kemurikage bowed their heads, with the two at her feet placing the foot paddles off to the side. They rose like smoke, and took their swords with them, sliding them underneath their torn cloaks. Gliding over towards the balcony, two of the Kemurikage went to either side of the curtain wall and tugged at the golden rope cord that held the heavy cloth in place. A sheet of thick fabric cascaded down, over the thin silk, shutting out light from the slowly setting sun, while the Kemurikage trio remained outside. "You may leave, Lady Stork," the Lady of Dragonstone whispered, staring at her Lord Husband, who seemed confused, as he continued sipping his tea. "Dear husband, would you care to lock the door after Lady Stork?" Lady Azula purred.

She saw the moment of realization hit him, as he gulped down his scalding hot tea, and rushed her out the door. As soon as she was out, the door slammed shut behind her. She heard it lock, and took several steps back, as the Repurposed guard resumed his position in front of the entryway.


	20. (Dragonstone) Mai II

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Mai II

"It's been seven months since Princess Azula left," Mai said in a flat tone, her fingers twitching up to adjust her spectacles, "and you choose _now_ to come forward to _me_ with this?" Voice slightly raised, she continued, "While Lord Stannis and Princess Azula are away, _I_ am Overseer of the Grand Academy and the Agni Shipyard. Any delays are on _my_ head." She rose from behind her carved wooden desk, hands gripping the armrests as she did so. Standing fully, and glowering at the man with her dead eyes, she let her arms fall to her sides. Her sleeves closely followed to cover the blades clenched in her pale hands.

"A thousand apologies, Lady Mai, but we were unsure if the facility was going to be able to handle a vessel that large," said the industrial administrator, head bowed, hands clasped, and legs shaking. "It was only meant to repair and refurbish _the Ozai,_ and build Zuko-class Cruisers. Not construct a ship nearly three times larger. However, my team and I were, at the time, confident we could achieve what our Princess demanded even with the limited space. We did not want to disappoint her majesty with such bleak news."

"Or maybe you just wanted me to take the fall for your incompetence?" she stated matter-of-factly.

"No, my lady, it was…" he began.

"Don't lie to me," she cut him off, "you were too afraid to come to her with this, so you shifted the responsibility to me." She relaxed her grip on her knives, securing them further up her sleeves before revealing her hands and pointing at the sniveling man, "You'd best figure this out _before_ she returns. She is long overdue in that regard, and she has sent no hawk signaling when she will 'grace' _you_ with her presence. She wanted _the Azula_ completed by the end of the year. You have five months left. Get. It. Done."

"Without fail my lady," he said weakly, head still bowed, as he backed out the door.

When he left the room, a Fire Nation soldier, stationed just outside, shut the door, allowing Mai a chance to continue thinking on the events that led her to this place. ' _Fifteen years since I came here. Fifteen since I've seen my family, my home, my world, Zuko…,'_ thinking the last with her breath slightly caught in her throat. During her fifteen years, and counting stay in this world, Mai had had many suitors. Some from the Fire Nation troops who came with them, some from Westeros, and surprisingly a few from Braavos, and the Free Cities.

However, it was blatantly obvious why they were coming to her in droves. While she held no lands, she was known as Azula's right hand. That meant the moment Azula had made a name for herself and the rumors of King Robert's 'secret' orders to build a truly Iron Fleet, had been swirled, many had come to Mai with offers of marriage. The outsiders just wanted to have an inside view on Dragonstone and the rumored 'Crowned Fleet' King Robert had ordered built, while the 'insiders' just wanted to be near the Prin…the Firelord. She didn't trust any of them, Fire Nation or no, save for, ironically, Azula. Azula was the only thing remaining of her past life like she was to Azula. ' _Like Ty Lee was to us,'_ she let out a small sniffle at the thought of her old friend.

* * *

Battle of Shipbreaker Bay (283 AC)

The three of them, along with Lo and Li, were onboard Azula's royal barge with a crew numbering three hundred strong, and loaded with a Tank Train, when they had suddenly appeared in the dead of night near the mouth of Shipbreaker Bay. This was during the Siege of Storm's End, while the civil war, known as Robert's Rebellion, was raging across Westeros. Azula had been training on deck with Lo and Li advising. Ty Lee and Mai had been off to the side, watching. Suddenly, the day turned to night, and they appeared in different waters. They heard a loud crash and the ship shifted, making Azula, and the rest of them lose their balance. The emergency bell sounded, and several crew members emerged from below, armed and ready for combat, courtesy of Azula's constant drills. No sooner had they regained their composure, as they heard shouting and cursing coming from below and around the entirety of the ship, when arrows began raining down on deck. They all scattered for cover, including Lo and Li who moved fast for decrepit old women.

Like a well-oiled machine, the soldiers rallied, reformed, and began raining fire and arrows at everything they saw below. The swordsmen and women, brandished their blades, their pikes, knives, anything and everything, and prepared for enemy boarders. Azula shot up her command tower using controlled fire blasts from her feet. Upon reaching the top, she recognized the small pinpoints of light, of lit torches, from sail ships. She began bending lightning at them, one by one sinking them as the ones surrounding the ship began retreating from the conflagration forming around the barge, crashing into one another in their confusion. Mai remembered Azula shouting, "No one attacks the Fire Nation and lives! No one! No mercy!" Everything after was a blur. Azula tasked the captain with chasing down the fleeing enemy ships, sniping with lightning from the top of her tower, with the firebenders taking pot shots at the closer ships with fire blasts. Afterward, with the rising dawn, Azula looked upon the carnage and smiled. As far as Mai could see were flaming wrecks, everywhere half-hearted cries of agony were coming from survivors using whatever flotsam they could grab onto during the death throes of their ships. Calmly and confidently, Azula gave the order, "Captain! Bring the ship around to the enemy wreckage. Archers! Nock…" Ty Lee could not bear it and ran below deck. Mai remained standing there, in shock, as the cries of the hapless survivors slowly began quieting with each successive volley. Azula earned two monikers that day. To the rebels, she was hailed as "The Savior of Storm's End," while the loyalists cursed her as, "The Butcher of Shipbreaker Bay." They would not be the last titles she held.

Once it became clear who they had destroyed, the side they had unknowingly supported, the army besieging the fortress of Storm's End broke at the slaughter just off the coast and retreated away from the fortress into the surrounding areas. The ship remained at the mouth of the bay, while Azula assessed the situation. A small vessel, captained by one Davos Seaworth, bearing a cargo of onion and salted fish, hailed them. Azula frowned but allowed him to board. After coming aboard, Azula had her soldiers search the man, and upon finding nothing she took him into her command tower. Followed by a heavy guard, she remained in the tower for several hours, while they were ordered to remain outside, and on guard, just in case any 'problems' arose. When she finally emerged, she informed them of her plan to send Lo and a small team of benders aboard the man's ship, to negotiate with Storm's End and its commander, Stannis Baratheon.

While the envoy was gone, Mai went to speak with Ty Lee, who sat alone in the far corner of the crew mess hall. She remained huddled in a fetal position, not acknowledging her, as she approached. She was clenching her eyes shut, with her hands covering her ears, and cheeks wet with freshly shed tears. Reaching out, she flinched at her touch. "Ty Lee?" she asked, unsure of where she was going with this question. She looked at her, and Mai's heart sank. Her eyes. Her eyes were not the same. Not from before, and they never would be again. Mai would often be called the dark emotionless one, but today, as every other day since, she realized she couldn't be that person. Not with her. Not with Ty Lee. She was not meant to have witnessed something like that, and to be honest she didn't even think she was. _  
_

* * *

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Mai I  
 _Knock! Knock! Knock!_  
Mai twitched as the knock shook her out of her memories...or her nightmares?

"Come in," she said quietly.  
"Hello Aunt Mai!" shouted, Ty Lee, Azula's youngest daughter…


	21. (Dragonstone) Cressen I

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Cressen I

"And how are the educational materials? Are they still up to the standards established by Princess Azula, Maester Cressen?" questioned the Lady Mai, during her annual audit of the Grand Academy. Normally these sessions were quite intense, but the Lady Mai appeared to be preoccupied. Throughout her query, she had been looking down at some parchments detailing the progress of a project, currently underway, at the Agni Shipyard. Her meeting with the Industrial Administrator had apparently not gone well, as evidenced by the fact that Cressen had seen the man leaving the Firenation-style administration building, looking as if he had laid eyes upon the stranger himself.

"At the moment they seem so," the High Educator of the Grand Academy stated, before continuing, "The Citadel's books of higher knowledge and the Firenation's books of Education the Lady Azula had brought with her have meshed exceedingly well. There are some discrepancies, of course, in regards to your 'spirits' and 'bending,' and our 'higher mysteries,' magic if you prefer. But it still stands strongly as a balanced curriculum that allows for gradual learning and development."

She glanced upwards for a moment as if to reassure him that he still had her attention before motioning for him to continue.

"Furthermore, I will say again, as I always do, that it was fortunate that we spoke the same language when you appeared, as it allowed a more seamless translation of you alphabetical characters to ours," he said wistfully, before continuing. "That said, the Citadel is still uncertain of Lady Azula's need to educate the small folk. It could 'disrupt' the fabric of Westrosi society. It is already known, that several nobles, of note, are starting to grow agitated at us offering better alternatives and lives, to their subjects, and causing migration out of their lands." He stated. "Even with the King's blessing, it is still worrisome." He had begun to suspect that Grand Maester Pycelle was partly responsible for this backlash towards small folk education, at the behest of Tywin Lannister, but since he did not have the time nor the ability to investigate, it was merely a hypothesis of his own making.

"Yes," she began, "Princess Azula anticipated this reaction, but she let King Robert and the Late Jon Arryn know, that an education, a _good_ education, was required in order to build the facilities needed for ship construction. Ships that King Robert himself commanded be constructed as one of the preconditions for allowing the marriage, between Princess Azula and Lord Stannis, to occur." She answered with a hint of annoyance, though not at him, it was directed towards the nobility, Cressen knew. "Although," she added, "I wonder if the Citadel's ambivalence about our education program has more to do with the educational materials themselves or the fact that Qyburn is the Academy's Master of Medicine? Or, perhaps, that some worshippers of R'hllor are members of the educational staff?"

"Who can say?" Cressen responded as Mai regarded him with a slight twinge of her brow, beneath her spectacles.

Although he had had his reservations of the man upon his naming to the position, he had grown less hostile towards him when he, along with the Lady Azula's childhood friend, Ty Lee, had been instrumental in saving the Lady Azula's life after the quelling of the Greyjoy rebellion. His methods may have been based upon questionably acquired knowledge, but it had ultimately done Stannis a great service and had aided in easing Stannis' mind. An accomplishment to which Stannis would never have admitted to others, save Cressen himself, and that was enough for Cressen to bear no ill will towards the man. Even so, he was not so certain others at the Citadel held the same regards for Qyburn.

' _As for the followers of the Red God, the less spoken about them the better,'_ he thought. While there were still several fanatics present, within the large religious following the Lady Azula had 'acquired,' she had managed to maintain order. She used their belief that she was their promised savior, Azor Ahai, to keep them loyal and prevent them from doing anything without her consent. At first, a few months after the conclusion of Robert's Rebellion, only Thoros of Myr had arrived. He had been good company, slightly prone to drink, and insightful during his more inebriated moments, but nothing about his beliefs made him dangerous. It was only later when he had seen, or been allowed to see, the Lady Azula bend blue flames that he began to change. He no longer drank, and he took to seclusion, writing many letters to his fellow worshippers in other temples about the 'truth' he had discovered on Dragonstone.

Then the ships began to arrive, bringing with them a few worshippers at a time. Two or three at the beginning, and ever so slowly growing into the hundreds by the fifth year. Even now, they continue to come, having already reached near ten thousand strong. There had been a few incidences, most of which had been quickly resolved. One occurrence of note was the time when the woman in red had seen the Lady Azula and began accusing her of falsely claiming the title of Azor Ahai, before being exiled from Dragonstone under pain of death. Another had been when several of the R'hllorites had attempted to storm the sept to burn 'the false idols.' He had witnessed these vandals put down by the lady herself. Even though her belly had been practically bursting with child, it still did not prevent her from making an example of these rogue zealots. She had them hung, and burned their dead bodies herself, before having their ashes thrown into the sea.

* * *

Dragonstone (12/28/284 AC)

She stood before the gathering crowd at the sept and issued her proclamation, "I am AzorAhai! I am the Firelord! You see me as the one who will wash away the darkness?! And yet you defy my commands?! My commands to keep the peace and maintain the order that I wish to be kept here?! On the island I call home?! Those who wish to continue challenging my decrees, step forth and face my fury!" none had come forth, and she continued, "Those who wish to remain here with their true savior, the one chosen by R'hllor, prostrate yourselves, and remember who it is you bow to!" at that, the worshippers of the Red God began to fall to their knees, bowing their heads in reverence and fear.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Cressen I

"Well, whatever the case may be," she uttered, dismissively, "I trust you have your written summary of the current educational systems in place and details of their effectiveness? You know how demanding Princess Azula can be in regards to the academy?"

"Yes, the Princess…" at that he paused and glanced at the Lady Mai, who wore a slight grin on her usually expressionless face.

"You lose," she stated bluntly.

' _Curses!'_ Cressen thought to himself, ' _how absurd it was for such a game to have come about on the day when 'the Scourge of the Reach,' had added a third title to her name?'_

Storm's End (283 AC)

"I will not negotiate with her servant, Maester Cressen!" grumbled Stannis Baratheon several hours after the negotiations with Lo, the Lady Azula's envoy, had passed. "If she wishes us to prostrate ourselves before her supposed 'superiority' and make demands that she has no right to do, then she is no ally of ours, Princess or otherwise. Especially not some stranger who appears from the darkness, commanding a ship that should, by all rights, not exist." He stated, in the privacy of his solar, after dismissing the envoy sent by Lady Azula. "I will speak only to this 'Princess Azula' herself and gain the measure of her character, personally," he continued, "and if she wishes to show good faith in our war then she will need to do more than destroy a few ships, send food, and dispatch an old woman with a few guards to negotiate."

While negotiations had gone less than ideally, Cressen had understood Stannis Baratheon's caution. For how were we to know this foreign Princess had the best intentions for Westeros? It was true that she had annihilated the Redwyne fleet, and it was true that she had sent the smuggler along with his salted fish and onions. She had even included some food from her ship's stores, for which the starving guardsmen, and little Lord Renly, of Storm's End were understandably very well pleased. However, it may well have been a ploy by the Free Cities, or some other foreign power, to take advantage of the chaos brought about by the rebellion in order to gain a foothold in Westeros through Storm's End. In the end, the Lady Azula had answered these questions of suspicion with more than words, she answered with flames, fury, and steel. During the night, after the negotiations had concluded, Cressen had been staring out towards the bay. There, Azula's iron ship, 'the Black Behemoth,' as some at Storm's End had begun calling it, floated ominously. Cressen noticed a single light emanating from the top of the small palace built on the monstrous ship before it had been snuffed out.

Before the moon had reached its zenith, Cressen had retired to his chambers. Just as the heaviness of sleep was beginning to overtake him, he heard something that sounded like thunder and caused the ground to shake. When he had finally managed to reach a window to identify the source of the menacing sound, he only caught a glimpse of a large black form entering the treeline near Storm's End. Stannis himself had awoken and summoned him to the battlements, along with several other guardsmen. Together, they listened to trees snapping and being crushed, as birds began unleashing a torrent of 'squawks' and 'caws' at having been rudely awoken and shaken from their nests. In the distance, the lights from the Tyrell encampment rose above the tree line, shouts and cries of alarm were heard once the snapping ceased. After which, the Tyrell encampment exploded into a firestorm, with lightning seemingly emerging from below the trees. Men were heard shouting, horses neighed, and the sound of the black form crushing dirt, and flesh, and bone, trees, and tents, went long into the night. That night was not a quiet one.

In the morning, many of those who had emerged during the night's events had remained alert and attentive on the battlements. The heaving, crushing, sound slowly made its way towards Storm's End from the trees, black smoke rising all the way until finally emerging. It was being escorted by a woman, and two men, on horseback. The horsemen behind the woman were carrying what appeared to be a standard of a black three-pronged flame, within a red field, and gold border down its sides. The woman was dragging a fourth, stumbling, rotund man, by a chain fastened to the iron collar around his neck. She had at her horses' side a bloodstained Tyrell banner, wrapped around something, and strapped to her back was a sword many had heard tales of, the ancestral sword of house Tarly, Heartsbane. It did not take long to realize who the man being dragged was or what was wrapped in the bloodied Tyrell banner afterward.

She quickly raised her right hand in a fist and the iron monster behind her ceased. She drew Heartsbane and pointed it at the man who held Storm's End. "I am _Princess_ Azula of the Firenation! Stannis Baratheon wishes to speak to me?! So be it! Open your gates, and come forth, so we may speak! And know this Stannis Baratheon! I can do more than 'destroy a few ships!'" she proclaimed.

Maester Cressen chanced a look at his lord and saw that all the others present both on the battlements and below had also turned their attention towards him. He frowned and grunted, muttering something under his breath before calmly stating, "Very well! I will speak with you _Lady_ Azula!"


	22. (Dragonstone) Mai III

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Mai III

After the meetings with Cressen, Ty Lee, and Han the industrial administrator, which went terribly for the latter, Mai needed to breathe. She stepped out of the Administration building, and as her feet touched the ground, she stared out into the flat green field surrounding the building, breathing in the refreshingly cool air coming from the nearby coast. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon. As a couple of Flameguard moved to flank her, she waved them off. They obeyed, with only the larger man slightly hesitating. She wanted to be alone, and in the heart of Dragonstone, it's not like she needed protection anyways. Especially after Azula made an example of those foolish Stepstones pirates tried to raid the Agni Shipyard nearly two years ago.

As always, Azula set the standard for 'aggressive overreaction' and 'lesson teaching,' she thought darkly. She had crippled some of the pirates and 'questioned' them before they revealed they were from the Stepstones. Azula had later commented that she had her suspicions that a third party had been responsible for goading the pirates on, which was why she had requested a response from the crown. Of course, as evasive as always, she masked her intent under the guise of showing, "those filthy pirate peasants," King Robert's power.

Azula had Stannis request permission to retaliate, to which Robert agreed, heartily. As King Robert had been unable to go he had suggested Stannis himself participate. Stannis had readily agreed, seeing it as his duty to "protect the shores of the king's realm." Steffon, then a slightly muscular and fit thirteen near fourteen-year-old, and Theon Greyjoy, a slightly taller but slimmer seventeen-year-old, had both requested to join the small fleet, Stannis and Azula had mobilized, to "smoke out those pirate scum." After some consideration, Azula had thought it the perfect opportunity to let them have some combat experience, after all, "Why not?" she had said. Steffon had been nearly two years younger than them when they had gone out into the world and faced combat, and Theon was already a man, so Azula merely saw it as a 'character building' exercise for the both of them. It had taken Stannis some convincing to send their ward out into dangerous waters, but Azula had had her way.

When it came to Steffon, however, Stannis had offered stiffer resistance. Azula had fought to convince Stannis that Steffon would be in no position of danger. "He would only be there to observe the fleet in battle," Azula had said. To which Stannis had responded, "No. If my son goes he will not be some shielded babe, like Joffrey. He will fight, he will win, and he will make me proud, as he always does. But even so, I will not risk his wellbeing," and in the end Azula had lost. Naturally, Steffon had chosen to ignore the commands of his parents, as most young people do. As he shared their blood, he shared their headstrong nature, and he would not be swayed, refusing to be kept away. So, like any youth, he snuck aboard the 'Firestorm' and went to war. Steffon's ears would later suffer for this, when Stannis had encountered him alone in a pirates den. A victim of 'capture', and surrounded by dead pirates, Steffon had reportedly greeted his father with a huge grin on his face. "Father!" he had said. The Flameguard that had accompanied Stannis, had recalled the moment, "It felt as if the air within the den had all been sucked into Lord Stannis' lungs," before the Lord of Dragonstone had let out a deafening roar. "Steffon Baratheon! What in the seven hells are you doing here?!" he had thundered.

It had, in the end, proved beneficial for all four of them. Azula returned to Dragonstone with a stone dragon egg, and information about the pirate's mysterious benefactor in the free cities, while Stannis resumed his post as Master of Ships, with the recognition of having broken the pirates of the Stepstones in a quick and ultimately victorious campaign. Pirates had later returned to populate the area, but it was still considered a victory. Steffon and Theon had accompanied Stannis to King's Landing to be given honors, and granted knighthood, by the King for their bravery on Grey Gallows and Bloodstone. Those two boys had even managed to earn their first nicknames during the battles in the Stepstones. Steffon had become known as Steffon 'Silver-Tongue,' after being captured and revealed, he had somehow achieved freedom when he elicited a den of pirates into killing each other over who got his ransom.

Theon, on the other hand, had earned his after assuming command of the 'Cassana' when the original captain had been struck dead by a Lyseni pirate's arrow. His naval training, at Azula's insistence, had proven its worth. For Theon 'Pirate's Bane' Greyjoy had scoured the easternmost islands of the Stepstones, clear of pirates, in revenge for his fallen captain. The only 'loser' in this entire endeavor, barring the pirates themselves, had been eleven-year-old Ursa. When the preparations were being made, she had sent a strongly worded letter, from Winterfell, demanding to be allowed to join the Stepstones campaign. Steffon had read the letter and laughed, commenting on "poor little Ursie," and her childish tantrums. ' _A bit hypocritical_ ,' she thought, considering he had had the same reaction, only had succeeded in going anyways.

All in all, it was said that the Baratheon's of Dragonstone, and their ward, had slain nearly six hundred pirates between themselves, and were responsible for freeing many of the slaves that had been imprisoned there. Most of the slaves had later been provided and accepted, opportunities to live on Dragonstone.

"The pirates had not known what hit them," she remembered Steffon saying, flourishing a pretend blade in his hand, after he and Theon had arrived back on Dragonstone. They had both been eager to regale Mai with tales of their exploits.

"Yes, they did. It was me aboard the 'Cassana,'" Theon responded, pounding his chest, placing his foot upon a stool and pretending to shield his eyes from the sun while looking into the distance. "All you did was talk them to death, 'Silver-Tongue!" he continued, laughing as he did so.

"Shut it! You flaccid squid!" Steffon had said, before slapping Theon on the arm. "No need to still be sore after my undefeated reign as champion of our sparring matches!"

"Ow!" Theon exclaimed, rubbing the spot on his arm Steffon had struck.

She remembered smiling, thinking to herself, ' _how odd? That they just returned from killing and thought nothing of it?_ ' She quickly realized, afterward, that Azula herself had that same mentality when we had first arrived. Considering the influence she had had in their upbringing, it may have been intentional. When she had approached her to ask of this, Azula had later confirmed it, saying, "They must be desensitized to violence, so that they can do what needs to be done," she said, a mix of sadness and anger in her voice, "if and when the time comes to rule a kingdom and command a war, they _must_ be ready." Her mind had registered what she had said, and a voice whispered within her, ' _Was that how Zuko and Azula were raised?_ ' She had known both in their academy years, but she had never been privy to what their father had taught them. Nor had either of them spoken of it, in detail. ' _It was a moot point_ _anyways,_ ' Mai thought, as she had come to terms with the cruelty of this world, and the fact that if it had been anyone other than Azula in command, everything would have fallen apart long ago. In fact, it very nearly did at the close of the Greyjoy Rebellion, when an assassin had infiltrated the 'Ozai' and had shot six darts, full of Demon's Dance, towards Azula as she had boarded the ship for the return trip to Dragonstone from Pyke.

* * *

The Ozai (289 AC: Pyke)

Ty Lee had been the first to notice something was amiss when she commented to Azula that "the aura here is off." But since there were many soldiers standing at attention, waiting to receive their commander, Ty Lee had been unable to isolate the individual causing the disturbance. Azula had refused to back down and instead whispered to them, "Keep your eyes open, I will not be embarrassed on my own ship," before stopping, clasping her hands behind her back, and commanding, "Attention! Brave soldiers of the Firenation! I want all of you on this deck to raise your visors! So I may look upon the warriors who've accompanied me, to victory, against the Ironborn rebels!" As soon as all had lifted their visors, she continued forward, her back towards us. Ty Lee was to her left, and their footsteps sounded like thunder on the 'Ozai's' deck. Her heart had been pounding, eyes flashing over each individual, noting hands, head movements, intakes of breath, everything.

But it was too late, ' _we should have turned back_ ,' she thought, as she felt movement to her left. Ty Lee had planted her foot down and raised her hands. She saw Azula ahead of her, crouch down while repositioning her feet, and preparing to bend. Blades were in Mai's hands in an instant, and she turned, towards where Ty Lee was facing, the seconds feeling like years. Ty Lee's body had been blocking her, as she hit a dart away with a kick, and sunk down, extending her body too far to slap another away. A dart had hit Ty Lee's exposed side, and she went down. Ty Lee gripped her side and pulled out the dart. In the opening, caused by the falling Ty Lee, Mai had seen the man. He had given no hint of being an assassin, save for the look in his eyes, which she had shared often enough, as she threw a knife in his direction. His face had changed, before the blade sunk into his throat, killing him.

Meanwhile, most of the Flameguard had ducked out of the way of her blade, while the remaining others had rushed to assist the fallen Azula who had taken a dart in the thigh and two in her arm. Azula had only managed to yell, "Assassin!" and pointed in the direction of the man, before she began having violent spasms. Her eyes had rolled back and her mouth started bleeding. She screamed as her legs and arms began constantly shifting into painful, contorted, angles.

Ty Lee had had a similar reaction, only slightly less violent. The years she had spent training her body and having absolute control of it, had allowed her to suppress her spasms into a vicious twitch. Even so, she had still gritted her teeth in pain, while blood trickled out of her mouth, before collapsing.

Several Firenation healers had rushed to the scene, along with maester Qyburn. Together they had managed to stave off further deterioration, for the moment, with haphazard medicinal countermeasures. Qyburn had been recruited from a sellsword company known as the Brave Companions after Azula had heard of his exploits from Cressen. "Quickly!" he said, "Put something in her mouth before she bites her tongue!" before the alarm bell had sounded, and a messenger had been sent to retrieve someone who could assist.

In what seemed like an instant, Stannis Baratheon had appeared on the ship, followed closely by Eddard Stark, and a handful of nobles from the various houses, including Tywin Lannister. Stannis demanded to know what had happened, before seeing a screaming Azula on the floor. Several Flameguard were holding her down, to keep her limbs from contorting.

He rushed to her side, pushing a Flameguard off of her, before he gripped her hand, shouting "Maester?! What is it?!"

"Demon's Dance, my lord. We have the ingredients for an antidote on Dragonstone, but it is too far, she has only hours" said Qyburn, before Tywin Lannister spoke.

"We have them at Casterly Rock as well, the distance is not as great. If we send one of your hawks now, the antidote will be ready, and it will be at the docks in Lannisport when we arrive."

"What of Balon? He may…"began Eddard Stark, before Stannis cut him off.

"That traitor will delay just to see my wife die! We will go to Casterly Rock! Everyone not part of the crew leave now!"

During the entire exchange none had paid attention to Ty Lee, barring the large armored man in the hound-shaped helmet, near Lord Lannister. She was shivering and twitching in her arms. After all non-Dragonstone individuals had been commanded off the ship, several Flameguard turned, and had finally noticed them. They assisted Mai in carrying Ty Lee into the command tower, while a further few were lifting up the corpse of the man with the half face. The rest of them had followed Azula to the tower, before taking up sentry positions, and turning the ship into a fortress.

Once Ty Lee had been placed on a cot within the ship's command tower, Mai demanded whatever concoction the healers and Qyburn had made to stave off the poison. But none could help her, as all had been used in temporarily stabilizing Azula, and sufficient quantities of the ingredients were not available to produce more. As the hours passed, she held Ty Lee's cold hand and began talking with her.

* * *

The Ozai (289 AC: Nearing Lannisport)

Sitting, at her bedside, she whispered hopefully "We are almost there, Ty Lee, just a little bit more to Lannisport." Her tears were threatening a downpour as she watched her frail form.

"Yay," Ty Lee attempted to say with her usually bubbly voice, but only coming out as a sickly cough "I still need to teach Margaery how to talk to boys. She's hopeless without me." Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth as she spoke so Mai used the bit of cloth at her side to wipe it off. "Thanks." She smiled, partially gritting her teeth in pain, as her left leg contorted a bit before she willed it down. "I look terrible don't I?" she asked, in an exhausted sigh.

"No, you look fine." she lied.

As Mai spoke, Ty Lee gathered her energy and maneuvered her head to look at her, a sad look in her hazy eyes. They both knew she wasn't going to make it. One selfish question flooded her mind, ' _out of all the people to die saving, why Azula?_ '

"She is our friend," Ty Lee said softly, answering the question she knew Mai had, with a voice barely above a whisper. With a determined look overtaking her normally soft gaze, she regarded her with a weak smile. Her body rapidly began failing, and her chest was rising and falling ever more slowly. With her last ounce of strength, she placed her shivering hand on Mai's arm, and told her, in the firmest voice she had ever heard from her, "Promise me you will take care of her. You are all she has left of her old life and she can't do it without you…" she let out her final breath.

As Ty Lee's hand grew slack, and began sliding off Mai's wrist, she grasped for it with her right hand. There she kept it tightly resting on her arm.

"I Promise…." she responded in a hoarse whisper.

She did not know how long she had been there, holding Ty Lee's hands in hers. She knew only that the candle in the room had gone out, and that she had sat in the darkness. She was shaken out of her trance when a hurried commotion had sounded near her, as several healers rushed into Azula's room down the hall. She brought Ty Lee's hand up to her face and held it against her cheek, before whispering.

"Ty Lee..."

* * *

The Ozai (289 AC: Lannisport)

Three days later, and with the help of Qyburn, they had finished preparing Ty Lee's body. While others had advised burning her or reducing her to bones, Qyburn knew of a way to preserve her long enough for Azula to see her, without it succumbing to rot and spreading disease. Azula had been stabilized one day prior. Qyburn had expressed his utmost assurances, to Stannis, in being able to make the trip back towards Dragonstone, onboard the 'Ozai', without upsetting Azula's condition.

* * *

The Ozai (289 AC: Nearing Dragonstone)

Nearly a week later they had arrived back near Dragonstone, and true to his word, Ty Lee's body had remained untouched by rot, looking as if she had been alive only moments ago. As Mai looked out of the window from her room, she saw Dragonstone in the distance and heard bells. ' _The bells usually tolled for an incoming attack or the death of royalty,_ ' she thought, before panicking and running towards Azula's room. She was not there, and there were no guards. ' _Oh no!_ ' she said to herself. Before she heard raised voices around the corner of the hall.

"My Princess! You must rest! It is not safe for you to move on your own!" a Flameguard exclaimed worriedly.

"He is correct, my Lady, you are not well. You must return to bed," said the calm voice of Qyburn.

"You dare to command me!? I command you to leave,and trouble me no further!" Recognizing Azula's voice instantly, Mai rushed towards the sound, and nearly ran into the Flameguard, Azula had recently dismissed. For a split second, they had gone into a defensive stance before recognizing her and relaxing.

Qyburn rounded the corner, and she asked him, "When did she wake?"

"Several minutes ago, and she had immediately demanded to go and see your friend, having remembered her getting hit by one of the darts," he said.

"Did you tell her?" Mai asked anxiously.

"Yes. She did not believe me."

As they spoke, they heard a loud thump and a strangled series of sharp breaths. She peered around the corner with Qyburn and the Flameguard. Azula had her back towards them and was using the wall as support, dragging herself across it. Stopping every few moments to take her breath, before getting irritated and shouting, "Ty Lee! Get over here now! Do _not_ make me walk to you!"

Mai took in a deep breath, before telling Qyburn and the Flameguard to follow her, "I will help her, keep a safe distance, just in case."

As Mai walked up to her, she asked, "Azula?" Somewhat startling the injured woman.

"Mai?" she asked with a surprised look on her face. "Why is Ty Lee not listening to me? I ordered her to come out of her room, but she will not come!"

Mai rose her hands to help steady Azula, but she glared at her. ' _To accept assistance was to admit weakness_ ,' Mai thought and understood. So she walked by Azula's side, hands at the ready. Qyburn and the Flameguard duo remained a comfortable distance behind, as they approached Ty Lee's door. Azula reached for the handle, took a deep breath, and slid it open. There on top of a wooden slab, was Ty Lee, a pair of immaculately clean banners, bearing the Firenation sigil, covering her head to toe. "Why are you sleeping!? Get up Ty Lee, so I can scold you for letting those darts hit me! Using Firenation banners for bed covers is treason!" Azula said, her voice slightly breaking. She stood staring, resting her body against the door frame, with uncertainty in her golden eyes, before gritting her teeth and sluggishly walking forward. Slowly but surely, Azula staggered her way towards the slab. When she finally reached it, Azula hesitated, before delicately lifting the banner from Ty Lee's face.

Ty Lee remained motionless, and she looked as if in a restful sleep. "Get up! Your Firelord _commands_ you to rise!" Azula ordered. After a moment of silence Azula asked, her voice quivering, "Ty Lee?" She was frozen, and while Azula's first reaction had been confusion, it slowly began to give way. Her hard look began to soften as hints of sadness began to creep into her strong façade, and she broke down in full-fledged tears, collapsing at Ty Lee's side. Azula gripped Ty Lee's cold hand as if it had been the only thing keeping her from falling into oblivion.

Hearing the commotion, the Flameguard had entered, "Princess? Are you…" the sudden voice at the doorway stopped dead, not prepared to finish the sentence in lieu of the situation in the room.

"Get out. Get. _Out_!" Azula shrieked, her tears still flowing. She gingerly touched Ty Lee's face, hands shaking, before breaking down again, wrapping her arms around Ty Lee, and sobbing into her chest.

The bells continued tolling mournfully in the distance.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Mai III

Lost deeply in thought, Mai had not realized where she had been going, but it had not surprised her where she had ended up. She had come upon 'the flowered hill' where Azula had Ty Lee buried. Brightly colored flowers of any and every kind, Azula could find, littered the area, with a sapling bearing pink flowers providing shade over the flat stone platform and small tombstone. The tombstone had Firenation markings carved into it telling the story of 'Ty Lee: the Kind One.' The platform had been placed to allow for those close to Ty Lee to visit her, of which there had only been three, Azula, herself, and Margaery. The latter of which was currently prostrating in front of the tombstone in respect. Her soft brown curls were tied in the bun style of Firenation royalty. Her gold trimmed tight green vest, and loose black trousers fluttered in the slight breeze.


	23. (Dragonstone) Margaery I

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Margaery I

"I need you. I miss you," the Tyrell girl said, as she held her head low, staring at the story of her mentor inscribed on the well-kept tombstone. She reached out and touched the letters on it, remembering her first meetings with the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, and how Ty Lee had remained her steadfast and only friend on the island. 'Until Steffon, Theon, and Mai, that is,' she thought to herself. She remembered being escorted to the Chamber of the Painted Table, by Ty Lee and the Lady Mai, when she had been only four, nearing five, namedays old. The Lord and Lady of Dragonstone awaited her in the bleak room, the dragon carvings threatening to emerge from the walls and consume her. She had been terrified as the exit had shut behind her. While it slowly closed she remembered casting a pleading look towards Ty Lee, who had been on the other side, holding a steady and worried gaze in response. "You were concerned for me, despite having no reason to be, and I wanted to go back to you," she uttered sadly towards the cold gray stone.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 1/15/288 AC) Margaery I

"Margaery Tyrell," the voice had startled her, and she snapped her head around towards the speaker. She saw a tall, grim, man clothed in functional, and non-ornamented noble attire. A slim, short, intimidating woman stood to his side, wearing a uniform of red, gold, and black. "I am Stannis Baratheon, and this is my Lady-wife, Azula Baratheon," he gestured towards the strange woman, who nodded her head, identifying herself. "Your father, Mace Tyrell, stood against the rebels during my brother's rebellion. He had been close to starving me, and my men, to death before my Lady-wife stepped in," she followed his eyes as he glanced towards the woman. She had been staring straight at her, and held a cruel smirk, with her left hand resting on her hip, and her right raised to her chin, deep in thought. Even at such a young age, Margaery could remember feeling the Lady of Dragonstone planning out the rest of her life, weighing it in her hands. Lord Stannis continued, "She destroyed his army and fleet," his lips twitched. "She captured him, your father, in the process and we held him, at Storm's end, for two years before he bargained for his life. He traded the lives of you and your brother, for his own," the Lord Dragonstone stated. He had spoken the last part, with a hint of disgust, she remembered.

"As a result of his poor decisions," the woman began to speak, "You are now our ward. Do you understand what that means?"

She did not, and so she shook her head in confusion, as the cold of the chamber crept into her bones.

"It means your life is in our hands, and if your father decides to rebel against the King…" she let the statement hang in the air before returning her gaze towards the four-year-old girl from Highgarden, "…your life would be forfeit. However, it does not need to be, should you remain loyal and steadfast to our family. If ever the time comes to decide your fate, it may be as the next ruler of Highgarden, and not as spike decoration, or crow feed," she spoke, indifferently, as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world to a child of four.

"Azula! No need to terrify the poor child, "said the Lord of Dragonstone in admonishment.

The Lady of Dragonstone frowned, glaring at her Lord Husband, slightly pouting her lips, before continuing, "As I was saying, your education at the Grand Academy will begin within the next fortnight. The Academy is small, at the moment, but it will grow. In the meantime, Ty Lee has volunteered to continue being your educator and caregiver. Spirits know why, but I know her to be loyal, so we have allowed it," she glanced towards the Lord of Dragonstone, who nodded his head.

She remembered sighing in relief at that, causing the Lady of Dragonstone to raise her eyebrow.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Margaery I

"I didn't like her very much, then," she chuckled darkly. "It was only after your death nearly destroyed her, and myself, that I have grown to pity her," she whispered, before continuing, "She was as lonely as I was, but she did not show it until then." Margaery watched as the light of the day slowly began to ebb, the sun nearly falling below the horizon. In the encroaching twilight, the stars began to twinkle into existence. Eyes towards the sky, and the glimmering stars, she smiled sadly, "You loved watching the stars like this. We would come to this spot and you would teach me how to fight. How to defend myself. Do you remember?" she motioned her head towards the stone. "You claimed to be training me for my own benefit. However, we both knew why you did so. You were afraid for me. You were afraid of her," she spoke longingly, tears welling up in her eyes. "If only you knew how much she cared for you. You were always sad, and you missed your home. Like I did mine, upon a time," she spoke softly. "But still, you smiled. You were kind," she smiled at the last memory she had of her mentor. Her mother, if she had been truthful with herself.

* * *

Dragonstone (289 AC: Ty Lee's Home)

"Do you think he likes me?" Margaery had asked her while doing a handstand, and watching as Ty Lee had been preparing to leave with Azula to the Iron Islands. 'You didn't tell me why you were going,' she thought bitterly, 'You knew you wouldn't have left if I pleaded for you to stay.'

"Steffon is a complicated boy," she had said, packing a small case with clothing. "You know who his parents are. Still…he seems, remarkably, unlike them," she said, as a thoughtful look crossed her face. "I supposed that should have been obvious when he held his little daytime 'party' in a cave on the northern beach," laughing as she spoke, "Azula and Stannis had not been pleased, not with him, and not with the guards he convinced to set up the innocent party composed of tea and sweet cakes." She looked towards her, "Do you remember that day, Margie?"

Yes, she did, and her embarrassment had been monumental that afternoon, several months ago, when she had awkwardly tried holding Steffon's hand.

* * *

Dragonstone (289 AC: Dance Cave)

They had both watched as the Firenation boy, Kai, and one of Steffon's best friends made a fool of himself. He had been dancing to no particular rhythm, his arms and legs flailing before he knelt with his eyes closed, a finger pointed to the sky. Steffon had made the most unusually adult comment she had heard from a fellow six-year-old, up to that point, "What in the seven hells is he doing? Dying?"

She remembered giggling timidly, looking into his eyes as he glanced at her, bearing his boyish grin. Her hand stretched out, reaching for his own, and he looked confused. He had hesitated and her hand hovered over his before she heard her voice.

"Steffon! What is going on here?!" demanded the Lady of Dragonstone, two Firenation soldiers flanking her, as she entered the cave. All the children had been startled and nearly rushed out of the cavern before she issued her command. "All of you remain where you are!" She sent a withering gaze towards the unfortunate Flameguard that had helped Steffon set up the little gathering, "You three! Escort the children back to their homes, and afterward, see me in the great hall!"

"Firelord!" spoke Steffon, as he knelt in respect, Margaery following. "They were only following my command, they…"

"Be silent!" she commanded, while the Flameguard had begun to gather the children. She could hear the waves crashing against the rocks, along with the panicked mumblings, and cries of the terrified children as they were being escorted out. They had remained kneeling as the last of the children and Flameguard had left, the Firenation duo holding watch at the cave's mouth. Margaery had been painfully aware of being virtually alone with the Lady of Dragonstone, again. She had been staring out of the mouth of the cave, her body half facing them, as she began to speak, "What in the spirit world, compelled you to do such a foolish thing?"

Margaery remembered being confused as to why she had not been dismissed, and it was only later that Steffon had told her it had been his mother's way of showing her that no one was above reproach, not even her own son. She had felt the heat within the cave rising, and she feared for their lives. Then Steffon spoke the only words, he knew, the Lady of Dragonstone would accept.

"To build alliances," the words leaving his mouth as his head was bowed in reverence. "They are the future of the Firenation, of Westeros, and it is imperative to begin when minds are younger and more malleable," he responded. That had been the second time Margaery remembered hearing an entirely too adult thought leaving Steffon's entirely too young mind, and she had felt unworthy to even entertain being with him. 'Young love,' she thought and laughed to herself.

She saw a brief flicker of surprise in Lady Azula's eyes before the cave cooled and a smiled formed on her face, "Well said. Next time, however," her face hardened, "speak to me first."

* * *

Dragonstone (289 AC: Ty Lee's Home)

She felt her face contorted in contemplation, and Ty Lee spoke, bringing her back to the time before Pyke. "I guess so," she said, as she finished packing her clothing. She collected a few small bags of her favorite snack, her beloved Flaming Fire Flakes, and threw them into her small case. Margaery flipped backward, landing in a seated position, on her small cot, next to Ty Lee's own. There she sat, finding her gaze being drawn to the spicy treat. Ty Lee had seen her staring at the small bags of baked crisps, "Meh. Not as good as they were on the archipelago or the colonies for that matter, but I make do with what I can," she shrugged her shoulders, grabbing a bag and tossing it at her, which she deftly caught. "So, party aside, have you ever spoken to him since?"

"Of course! If you count nods, and nervous, unintelligible, blabbering as 'speaking' with him," she responded with a sheepish grin, embarrassment lining her face. She nervously stuffed her mouth with a handful of fire flakes.

"Oh! Margie. When I get back we really need to speak about how to talk to boys," she smiled, before giving her some parting advice. "However, some key things to remember when talking to boys. Smile and look at them, and laugh at what they say even if it's not funny," she said, the promise of a more in-depth conversation on the subject lingering in the air, and awaiting the moment when she would return. Bells began to ring, a signal for everyone to begin making their way to the docks. Ty Lee's head looked out of their small window, a frown darkening her otherwise happy features, before she smiled, "Gotta go," she spoke, as she shut her packing case, and ruffled her hair, before kissing her forehead. "I'll be back, Margie. And for spirit's sake, Margie talk to him."

Margaery rose and hugged her, before Ty Lee passed through the door, of their humble home, for the last time.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Margaery I

She began to sniffle before a voice shook her out of her reverie, causing her to instantly assume a combat stance.

"Been here long?" spoke the Lady Mai, before Margaery stood down, wiping the remains of her tears away from her face.

"I miss her too, Margaery," she spoke solemnly, approaching Margaery slowly, before embracing her. "I miss her too."


	24. (Dragonstone) Margaery II

(Dragonstone: 8/10/298 AC) Margaery II

Together, the Lady Mai and Margaery Tyrell, walked side by side. The final rays of the setting sun were just peaking over the horizon in their final attempts, until tomorrow, to bring light and warmth to the world. The two had begun their journey back towards the Academy grounds, and in the comfortable silence, Margaery began to think more of her mentor, deciding to use these few precious moments with the one woman who was closest to Ty Lee, to learn more of her.

"What was she like when she was younger? Ty Lee, I mean," Margaery asked, as a cool breeze swept through her loose hair bun. _'It's kind of cold,'_ she thought.

"Much as you remember her," Lady Mai responded. "She was kind and had a positive outlook on life. Not to mention, she was a great acrobat. Better even than Azula, who gave her much grief over it. Ty Lee never let it get to her, though."

"The Firelord was jealous?" she inquired, the soft sound of grass crunching beneath their feet.

"Of course she was," the Lady Mai responded, "The Firelord didn't like anyone being better than her, at anything. She only ever recognized one superior, back in her youth, her father. The now 'previous' Firelord was a terrifying man to behold. Ty Lee would often speak to me of having nightmares of him."

"Was he really so monstrous?" she asked, the sun had already faded from view, and they walked in the twilight. The soft warm glow of torches illuminating the path, leading to the Academy, up ahead.

The Lady Mai paused, before stating, "He burned half of his own son's face," she snarled. "Even when he had asked for mercy and forgiveness, and knelt before him, he still burned him. He was responsible for continuing a war of genocide across our world, where countless men, women, and children were being killed, being enslaved every day. He plotted to have his brother removed from succession after his brother suffered the loss of his own son."

' _How cruel,'_ she thought.

"He cared not, he held no pity. And, more to the point, he kept the then, Princess Azula, firmly under his thumb. If you think someone, of such titanic personality and ego, could be kept under one man's heel, you can imagine how imposing he was. The man's cruelty would make even Tywin Lannister blush. As much as we had both denied it, I think Ty Lee and I had remained 'friends' with Azula solely from fear of reprisals, not just from her, but from him," she turned towards her, the faint red glow of torchlight, illuminating the right side of her pale face. "And do you know what is terrifying?"

Margaery shook her head, 'no,' in response.

"As ruthless, as cruel, as the Firelord is, she is at least tempered by the fact that she does genuinely hold her family close to her heart. It keeps her grounded, and prevents her from giving in too much, to the excesses that her father succumbed to."

' _Well that's good,'_ she thought in relief before the Lady Mai added.

"But, Ursa, she does not," she muttered ominously.

Goosebumps rose across Margaery's arms, in response to the name. Ursa terrified her, and rightly so. At the age of eight, before being sent to Winterfell, she bested firebending instructor Chang. A man nearly thirty-five years her senior, and a firebending master in his own right. He had been second best Firebender in the world, before Ursa took him apart with contemptuous ease during her sparring match to impress the Firelord. The entire Academy had been present, with the Firelord presiding over all from atop her viewing balcony. Ursa had nearly killed the man, before the Firelord commanded her to stop. Steffon had held a horrified look on his face, as did many others. Ursa knelt before the Firelord and remained kneeling, even in the unnatural quiet of the stunned crowd in the Academy courtyard. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity, before the Firelord dismissed them all, and summoned Ursa, and Chang to her throne room.

"She is more like her grandfather than she realizes. And I think the Firelord realizes this, about her daughter, as well," the Lady Mai stated. "It is only Ursa's fear and respect of Azula that keeps her in line. I fear what would happen without Azula around to reign her in."

"Madness," she uttered, before adding, "Was that why Azula sent her away?"

"I'm sure that was part of it, but not the whole reason," the Lady Mai replied, as they continued walking. "Whatever reasoning was behind it, is between Ursa and the Firelord."

Margaery and the Lady Mai, walked in silence, as Margaery thought, _'this conversation took a dark turn.'_

"Forgive me, Margaery," Lady Mai said, "the conversation got away from me. You wanted to know more about Ty Lee?"

"Yes, if it would please you to reveal more, Lady Mai," she chirped, trying to cast away all thoughts on the previous conversation.

"Did you know, that Ty Lee had a keen ability to attract boys?" she stated with a slight grin.

Margaery felt her heart skip a beat in equal parts sadness and anticipation. "So she told me on occasion," she replied, before lowering her head slightly. "She never taught me how, though."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" the Lady Mai began.

"No, it is quite alright," she responded sadly, casting a soft smile. "I wonder if maybe you know anything about attracting boys?"

The Lady Mai blinked in surprise, before letting out a harsh, but not completely unfriendly scoff. "No. I was never interested in learning how to attract boys, barring the Firelord's brother," she said ruefully, before casting a look towards her. "Fortunately the boy I sought to attract, and the boy you seek to attract are very similar in temperament and behavior."

Margaery felt her cheeks grow hot. "I do not know what you are talking about," she stuttered pathetically.

"Oh please, Margaery," the Lady Mai uttered in mirthful tone, "everyone knows you have feelings for Steffon."

She panicked, "Not everybody, I hope?!"

The Lady Mai's, normally porcelain still face, broke into a full smile. "If Steffon knows of your feelings, he doesn't show it. And if he doesn't know of your feelings, then he shares more likenesses with his uncle than I thought."

As they continued walking down the path leading towards the Academy, the glow of torchlights grew brighter, and before long they came across a patrol consisting of a trio of Flameguard, and a single Firenation cadet. "Lady Mai. Lady Margaery," they said, bowing their heads, before continuing on down along the path that she and the Lady Mai had come from.

She and the Lady Mai walked a few paces more before Lady Mai cast a quick look back to see the patrol disappear over the hill. "As I was saying, he would share more of his uncle's personality, if that were the case."

As much as Margaery had wanted to know about her mentor, the idea of gaining some insight into Steffon was too intriguing, and Ty Lee would approve, if not downright encourage her curiosity. "How so?" she inquired, as they passed under the archway leading towards the Academy courtyard, and the two Flameguard that guarded it. She had noticed the Lady Mai nod towards them in acknowledgment, before continuing on.

"Well," the Lady Mai began, as they neared the fountain located at the center of the courtyard, "the Firelord's brother, was less than 'observant' when it came to noticing the affection I held for him," she smiled. "The Firelord, Azula, had pushed us closer together in one of her unpleasant games, but it at least forced us to realize there was something there. Even as Zuko came barreling forward to put out the apple, Azula had set a flame, atop my head. We had both been, awkward, as we splashed down into the fountain that had been nearby." The Lady Mai paused before chuckling to herself and saying, "as we lay in the water, Ty Lee said we looked cute together. It was perhaps the only time in history where Azula's cruelty had a positive outcome."

"Whatever became of the Firelord's brother? This, Zuko?" she asked.

The Lady Mai's porcelain mask returned to her, and she responded glumly, "I do not know. I had wanted to write to him, during his exile, when his father had cast him out. However, I was afraid. I was unsure if Ozai was watching me, watching my family, so I refrained from writing him. We had heard he was still hunting down the Ava…" she paused, "hunting down someone of importance, before we had been transported here. Azula had apparently been close getting Zuko home before something caused him to deny Azula's request to accompany her." The Lady Mai sighed, "If only he had come, maybe he could have been here too. At least I would not have been alone," a sad expression lined the Lady Mai's face, as she stared at her. "As much as I loved Ty Lee. As much as I loved having her friendship, I needed more than what her mere friendship could provide. I didn't want to be alone."

Margaery could not help but feel for the Lady Mai. She had picked up much of Ty Lee's empathy, and Mai's sadness washed over her like a flood.

"That's why," she continued, "I will help you in your efforts at courting Steffon. You are a good person, an honest person, and I feel you would make for a good wife and confidant, to the heir of Dragonstone. I do not want the opportunity at happiness to pass you by, as it did me. Spirits know Steffon needs someone good in his life. Especially after the childhood, he has lived."

Margaery felt butterflies in her stomach.

"I do not seek to replace Ty Lee, for she is irreplaceable, but I do extend the hand of friendship if you would have it?" the Lady Mai whispered to her.

"I would," Margaery uttered, "and thank you."


	25. (Dragonstone) Cressen II

(Dragonstone: 9/20/298 AC) Cressen II

A little over a month had passed since his meeting with the Lady Mai, and it had gone relatively well. It was slightly past midday when Cressen, the High Educator of the Grand Academy, had gathered the ten remaining head instructors, and the four apprentice instructors, for a brief meeting within the Administration tower.

The main meeting hall within the tower was spacious and styled in Fire Nation colors and architecture. Red wooden pillars, with golden flame motif bases, held up the ceiling, while sumptuous red satin curtains draped over the walls, tied off at the end with a golden rope. Red cushioned benches, with gold trim, lined the walls of the room, nestled between the arches made by the tied curtains. At the center of the room was a lavish black carpet, bordered in red and trimmed in gold, on top of which stood a richly carved blood red wooden table, with eighteen gold trimmed, black cushioned, chairs. Fifteen of which held occupants, and of those occupants, only three held the attentions of the High Educator.

Chang was one-and-fifty, the second senior most member after himself, and he was also the Firebending instructor of the Academy. He walked with a slight limp, after that fateful sparring session with Ursa, and he held a grave look in his eyes, which were suspicious of everything. His stern gaze was accented with harsh Yi-tish features that his three-and-ten-year-old son, Takkar, shared.

Cyvia, the blond red priestess, who looked to be around four-and-twenty, taught fire divination and poison treatments, while Sanro, a short Yi-tish looking man, of two-and-forty with brown eyes, was an apprentice instructor who taught medicine in place of Qyburn. Sanro was Qyburn's student, though in truth they had learned from each other as Sanro had originally been the most senior Fire Nation healer aboard the Ozai. The two of them had apparently gotten along well and were often rumored to be found in the caverns beneath the Administration complex.

Cressen had never been made privy to what occurred down there, but Lord Stannis had, and he had said to pay it no mind. The ability of her people to control fire, notwithstanding, the Lady Azula had done nothing untoward or questionable during her tenure as Lady of Dragonstone, and she had not caused Stannis to lose his way. He remained a just, if harsh, man, who cared deeply for his children. In light of this, he had decided to follow the Lord of Dragonstone's advice and leave the caverns be.

As for the others, all were Fire Nation; Tima, San-Hong, Laan, Chi-Ha, Zonrik, Tarsersa, Timi-Ko, Eme, Zha-Meng, Nong, and Xo-Nin. Tima was the timid, raven-haired, Fire Nation historian, whose eyes, hid a dangerous sort of cunning. She was scarcely older than the Lady Azula, and in spite of this, she held on to the history of her country passionately. She never wished to let it be forgotten, and neither had the Lady of Dragonstone, which was why it was a required area of study made exclusive to the bending portion of the student populace.

A populace of which, as of Luohung's last census, numbered one-thousand-one-hundred-and-twenty-one. The number had surprised Cressen, when the Census Administrator had reported it to the Lady Azula, so much that he had nearly suffered an attack on his aging heart. He had known of the Lady Azula offering lowborn girls and women, the chance to become ladies of note on Dragonstone, as they were married off to her male countrymen, but he had not realized why, until then. More than that, however, he had been made aware of the secret power the Lady Azula's people held when Lord Stannis had vouched for him. He had seen them, 'bend' the very element of fire and harness it as a weapon. They wielded it as easily as one could wield their own fists, and feet. With each fist thrown, a jet of flame would shoot forth, and with each kick came an arc that flattened and burned whatever obstacles, had been placed, down.

Cressen had not been a man who understood war, tactics, and strategy, but he understood how powerful such an individual could be, or appear to be when faced with knights, and cavalry, and assorted smallfolk levies. Had he not gotten to know many of them, such as the stoic, yet honorable Commander Lee, or the insightful Xai Bau, he may have panicked, and revealed them to the order. However, Stannis and his Lady Wife had bid him not to. 

* * *

"If the Order found out," Stannis had said, "then the world would inevitably follow. You know what will happen, Maester, if they find out now. The Lords may pressure Robert to scatter them, ward them off, and even if Robert chooses to ignore them, and the Lords relent, the world will begin to turn its attention towards us, towards them," He remembered Stannis looking towards his Lady Wife, who carried his infant daughter, and his three-year-old son who stood by his side, as he uttered those last two words. "If the world decided to destroy them, scatter them, or in any way harm them, then I would do my duty, and protect them…or die in the attempt."

"I will not risk the anonymity of my people. Not now. Perhaps, one day, Westeros will learn the truth. But I will decide when that day comes," the Lady Azula warned, "because they are _my_ people."

* * *

For better or worse, he chose to let it be. He cared too much, for Stannis, to let his own caution and fear control his actions, and endanger the lives of the boy he knew. Or the good man he had grown to be.

Laan and Tarsersa argued like an old married couple, as each felt themselves smarter than the other. Laan, a balding Yi-Tish man nearing one-and-forty years, was head instructor of Engineering. He bore a trimmed beard and wild look in his eyes. Laan's innovations allowed for the more rapid construction of the Iron ships, as Dragonstone now possessed a total of six, with a far larger one, 'the Azula,' nearing completion. However, from what he had been told, it had been a far cry from what the Fire Nation of the Lady Azula's youth, had been capable of.

Tarsersa, a plain looking woman with flat features, was aged seven-and-thirty. She was apprentice Architect to Merah and was responsible for setting down the plans for the Administration complex. In addition, she personally oversaw the construction of the Lady Azula's royal apartment building.

Beside the 'married couple' sat San-Hong, the metallurgist, and to his left sat Zonrik the mineralogist. The Lady Azula craved, "More iron! More steel!", and those two, eerily quiet, unreadable, plain looking men, of six-and-thirty, were the ones most responsible for feeding her hunger. They were tasked with finding out where iron was located, and how it could be shaped, and developed in a quick, efficient manner. Even with the current surplus, from the Iron Islands, she wanted more. 

Seated the farthest away from the Maester of Dragonstone, were Xo-Nin, Zha-Meng, and Chi-Ha. They had all been top of their class in their home country's military Academy, and all three had been against sending Ursa to Winterfell. The trio all bore stern expressions and were rigid in personality.

Xo-Nin was a man of eight-and-fifty, who bore numerous wrinkles on what once may have been a handsome face, with thin slivers of gray creeping into his normally black goatee and top-knot. He taught fleet command at the academy and had studied the subject in his home country, alongside a man that the Lady Azula had called a disaster. She had not uttered the man's name, only that he led an ill-fated attack on her world's northern continent. Xo-Nin had been the man who captained 'the Ozai,' during the attack on Dragonstone, and the subsequent capture of Viserys Targaryen. The Lady Azula had, reportedly, fallen to a sudden pain. _'That was possibly due to being with child,'_ he thought.

"Fortunately," she had said, "Xo-Nin, does not show such madness."

Zha-Meng was a renowned strategist and tactician on his world, and he enjoyed several victories due to his tactics in the Greyjoy Rebellion, and the Stepstones campaign. His achievements were overshadowed by those of Commander Lee, from who he learned and in whose stead he taught, as the Commander had accompanied the Lady Azula to King's Landing. Even with the large shadow the Commander cast over him, Zha-Meng seemed to hold nothing but the highest praise for the man. Zha-Meng was six-and- forty, with sharp features accenting an otherwise normal face. 

The woman, Chi-Ha, was a formidable individual of eight-and-thirty, taller than the Lady Azula, and who held a reputation for brutality in her world. She rarely had the time to utilize her skill, and her weapon, which she called 'the meteor hammer,' but once the Stepstones campaign landed at her feet, she was only too eager to lead men into the fray. A single long scar ran down her otherwise attractive face. Her area of expertise was of infantry command, and she was a harsh teacher, accepting nothing less than perfect discipline. The Lady Azula seemed to appreciate her, and it was clear why. Due to her youth, and area of focus, Ursa had never been exposed to Chi-Ha. Even so, Cressen suspected the Lady Ursa would appreciate Chi-Ha's company as much as her mother does. 

The final three, closest to his left, were Timi-Ko, Eme, and Nong. While the previous three had been focused on military matters, these three were the main individuals responsible for Dragonstone's increased revenues, and self-sufficiency. Nong, a plain woman of three-and-fifty, with surprisingly pitch black hair, was the Lady Azula's trade strategist. Timi-Ko was apprentice agriculturalist, and she, alongside Eme, the boisterous horticulturalist, helped to develop the systems necessary for the increased food production. The amount was, by no means, large enough to rival the Reach, but it allowed the population on Dragonstone to eat regularly. 

Her people aside, the Lady Azula, seemed to be a positive influence on Lord Stannis, and she was responsible for having put down anything that threatened the stability and incomes of Dragonstone. She had personally taken it upon herself to wipe out all instances of rape, murder, fanaticism, and theft, on the island. In addition, she and Nong had identified the areas within, where the most revenue could come. Together, along with Monford Velaryon, they forged more lucrative trade contracts with the Free Cities, and the port cities of Westeros, increasing the incomes of Dragonstone, and the Driftmark, nearly fifteen-fold. She had even managed to get Monford's son, Monterys, as a student in the academy. Which had likely been in exchange for helping Monford rebuild Spicetown and High Tide.

So confident was she in her work, at crushing brigands and assorted cutthroats, that she had often boasted of being able to leave a purse full of golden dragons at the steps of Dragonstone, for days on end with no one having taken it. Until, one day, someone did. And it had been for the most innocent of reasons.

The youngest daughter of Lord Stannis and Lady Azula, had been worried someone had lost their coin, and she had desperately wished to see it returned to them. He remembered her clambering into the great hall, as Cressen had been holding council with the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, shouting worriedly, before the Lady Azula calmed her down. It had been sheer coincidence that Lord Stannis had taken some time away from King's Landing, to visit his wife and youngest daughter on Dragonstone, and was one of the few times Cressen had seen Stannis grunt in laughter. 

"It appears someone has finally arisen to challenge you, Azula," Stannis had said, while the Lady Azula had lifted the young Ty Lee into her arms. 

He remembered the Lady Azula frowning, before she shot back, "Well it is about time someone had the stones to do so." Stannis had frowned his response, and Azula smirked. 

Cressen could not help but chuckle, causing those seated around him to cast queer looks his way. No matter how much the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone chose to deny it, and as bizarre as it was to think, the aging Maester had the feeling that both of them seemed to get a small amount of enjoyment from arguing with each other. 

Two of the remaining three empty chairs, all situated to his right, were reserved for the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, and both were more luxuriously designed than the rest, particularly the one for the Lady of Dragonstone. The remaining chair at the far right was reserved for Overseer Mai, who was absent, after having informed him of a prior engagement to tour the Agni Shipyard. As the most senior member of the staff, she had placed him in charge of obtaining more in-depth progress reports, requested by the Lady Azula, of the senior students within the Academy.

 _'Stannis never cared overmuch for such opulence,'_ Cressen thought, _'but his Lady Wife insisted, and when she insisted, Stannis would sometimes relent. Especially with something so trivial.'_

A large table cloth, bearing the Sigil of the Burning Stag, covered the surface of the ornate table. Lighting the room in a dull red glow were hanging lanterns following Fire Nation designs. 

_'They are beautiful,'_ Cressen thought, as his gaze was drawn to the finely carved lanterns. Today was a time of rest, and the students had been allowed to leave their classes early, to help prepare for tomorrow's Festival of Fire. The Festival was a celebration, filled with games and foods, of the culture of the Lady Azula's home country. _'Tomorrow marked the first time the Lady Azula, and her two eldest would not be present to partake in the festivities,'_ Cressen thought. 

"In the areas of Firebending," Instructor Chang began, "our senior students are of the utmost quality and ability." 

"I hear your son, Takkar is of exceptional skill," Cressen stated, all the while knowing that Takkar had taken his father's defeat at Ursa's hand personally. Chang's son, desired above all else, to surpass the records that Ursa had set in Firebending. His instructors noted him as studying day and night, learning his stances, increasing his accuracy, and painstakingly perfecting his footwork. He was even rumored to have secret sparring sessions with his father, to assist in his development. So skilled and passionate was he, that he had managed to seize control of large portions of the reds and golds, which had begun to falter in Ursa and Steffon's absence.

Prior to Ursa being sent to Winterfell, she and Steffon had the most intense degree of contention, regarding the future of their house that Cressen had ever seen between siblings. They had divided the students into two rival groups of reds and golds. Both groups were fervently loyal to Lady Azula, but each differed in the thought of how the future of their nation, after the Lady Azula, should unfold. The reds were the smaller of the two groups and were composed of the more martially inclined students. The majority of them were Fire Nation loyalists that wanted to return the Fire Nation to its former glory. They yearned for a strong ruler, a worthy successor to Lady Azula, to lead them there, to secure their futures and those of their descendants. The golds, however, were composed of more diplomatically minded individuals, of mixed ancestry. They sought a steady integration into Westrosi society, as they felt the peace, happiness, and wealth, on Dragonstone should be shared with the rest of the Westeros. 

"Possibly rivaling the Fire Lord's eldest daughter," uttered Tima, the Fire Nation historian, before she backtracked, "or so I hear." 

Cressen heard several chairs shift and creak, before Chang responded, in a frown. "Not possibly," he said, "but certainly." 

The Lady Cyvia, who had remained quiet thus far, finally spoke, staring at the Firebending master, "Is that a challenge to Azor Ahai's heir?" She spoke, with a serene smile lining her flawless, milky white, skin. 

"It is not," Chang replied, unmoved by the red priestesses' enigmatic stare, "It is only a statement of fact. It is as unchallenging a statement, as saying the wind blows." 

Sensing the rumblings of impending argument, Cressen decided to head it off before it got out of hand. "We are not here to discuss the children of the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone. We are here to discuss the progress of the senior class of the Grand Academy." He turned towards Cyvia, and she locked eyes with him before nodding her head in acknowledgment. Afterward, he glanced towards Chang, who nodded his head in turn. "Good. Now, where were we?"


	26. (King's Landing) Sansa I

(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Sansa I

It was a glorious day, just as she always imagined it, gallant knights jousting, food and people from all over the kingdoms, the crown prince her betrothed, numerous banners fluttering in the wind, and all of this celebrating her father's rise to hand of King Robert Baratheon. Today her happiness knew no bounds. As she glanced towards her soon to be royal husband, Joffrey Baratheon let loose a princely smile, while his mother, her future good mother, nodded her head in approval. Turning back towards the jousting area, she saw the two opponents preparing for their match, Ser Hugh of the Vale and Ser Steffon Baratheon, son of Lord Stannis Baratheon, and the heir of Dragonstone. With her attention drawn towards the king's nephew, she overheard the Master of Laws, Renly Baratheon, proclaim, "One hundred gold dragons on Ser Hugh of the Vale!" surveying the crowd and flashing his handsome smile.

"Betting against your own kin, Lord Renly?" stated Petyr Baelish, in faux concern. "Still sore about losing to your nephew? How, ever, would your esteemed brother, Lord Stannis, take that insult?" he continued, casting a sly grin, towards the Lord of Dragonstone.

The Master of Ships, sat alone, near the royal box, his lady wife curiously absent. "I will take that bet," he uttered, in a dangerously quiet tone.

This seemed to stun both Lord Renly and Lord Baelish, into a brief silence, before they each recovered. "So, my _esteemed_ brother seems to be a gambler? I would never have guessed," the Master of Laws stated before both began glaring at each other. Whether by design or not, King Robert released a loud belch, destroying the heightened tension. This caused an awkward silence before Lord Renly laughed jovially, and King Robert demanded another serving of wine, much to her Grace's displeasure.

Brotherly feud forgotten, Sansa turned and focused on the knight of the Vale and the future Lord of Dragonstone as they finished preparing. The Vale Knight wore standard plate, and the Heir of Dragonstone was clad in something, much different. His black greaves wore a line of gold around his feet and straight up the middle of the shin, forming a stag head underneath the armored knee guards. The chest plate and gauntlets he wore, over a black gambeson, were aesthetically similar, black, glossy, and bordered in gold. Clasped around his waist was a thick, black leather belt, with his family sigil as its buckle. Before shutting the bone white visor on his red and black helmet, Ser Steffon shot a grin towards the crown prince.

As golden eyes locked onto their green counterpart, her betrothed frowned, as it was well known that the Heir of the Seven Kingdoms and the Heir of Dragonstone were not on the best of terms. Many who came from Dragonstone, had nothing but praise and respect for their future Lord while none in King's Landing spoke of their crown prince in such regards. Even so, the prince would be hers and she would be his. ' _She would be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, so the Heir of Dragonstone could keep the love of his people on that bleak island_ ,' she thought to herself, as she glared at him. Suddenly, he stared straight at her, his handsome Baratheon features accented by his deep golden eyes, as he raised his eyebrow and beamed what must have been the most dashing smile she had ever seen. His banner, the banner of the Baratheons of Dragonstone, beat in the wind behind him; the Black Stag, within a golden, three-pronged flame, upon a black field, and bordered in gold. At that moment, he looked every bit the shining, heroic knight, and she couldn't help but feel her heart flutter and her face redden. She turned away in embarrassment before he shut his visor, rounded his horse, and awaited the signal to begin.

Unbeknownst to the majority of the crowd, whose rapt attention was towards the jousting arena, Lord Stannis' lady wife, the Lady Azula Baratheon, entered the stands. Gracefully and purposefully, she made her way towards her Lord Husband. Her long dark hair was wrapped tightly in a bun and topped with a small golden flame headpiece. With her eyes burning like the golden sun, and clad in her usual gold trimmed, black leather armor, and boots, with red underclothes, ' _she looked more like a warrior than a lady of noble birth_ ,' Sansa thought, frowning to herself. Flashes of Lady Azula's daughter, Lady Ursa, and ward of Winterfell reared into her mind. Unlike her daughter, however, who held a strong Baratheon look, the Lady Azula had a 'foreignness' to her that Sansa had not been able to identify. Indeed, the only people who were rumored to share some of her traits were people from Yi Ti, or so the Queen had explained to her. Sansa herself, having never traveled to such far off places, had never seen anyone from that country, so she accepted her Queen's assessment.

As she motioned to sit, Lord Stannis began to stiffly lean towards her. She crossed her legs, placed one hand on her lap, while another guarded against unwanted eavesdroppers, and she began whispering something into her Lord Husband's ear. Several in attendance seemed to collectively hold their breath and slant their bodies towards the direction of the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, the Queen and Lord Baelish in particular. A pair of her mysterious, "Flameguard," had shadowed her during her approach to the jousting arena, and remained below. Along with the four others that had arrived earlier with Lord Stannis, and the two that arrived with Ser Steffon, they stood at attention. Silently, the eight surveyed the crowd, in their red and black armor. Their ghastly white skull face plates, similar to their Lord's son, gave no hint of mercy against threats to their Lady and Lords.

Whatever the Lady Azula had said, caused her Lord Husband's already threatening frown to deepen and grow sour. After several moments the Lord of Dragonstone excused himself, making his way out of the stands. Just as he finished walking down from the final step of the stands, his son clashed with Ser Hugh of the Vale. Ser Steffon sent his opponent toppling over in an inglorious heap, to the roar of the crowd. Rounding his steed, towards the throng of people, he gave a simple smile and bow, to many a maiden's beating heart, her own included. He scanned the stands for his Lord Father and Lady Mother and regarded each of them, with a deep nod and determined look. The Lord of Dragonstone paused and nodded back in kind, a slight upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, before continuing on out of the arena with his four Flameguard in tow. Ser Steffon's Lady Mother, on the other hand, remained impassive, only giving the slightest tilt of her head. Ser Steffon's expression was unreadable, but for a brief moment, Sansa saw a flicker of disappointment, before he returned to form and brightly smiled towards the crowd. He trotted off the field, leaving his opponent to pick himself up.

"It appears my patience for these tedious games has run its course, Lord Renly, I am going to retire to my chambers," Lord Baelish announced, quite a bit louder than necessary, given Lord Renly was only a few seats away. At this, Sansa noticed her Lord Father turn in the Master of Coin's direction, before giving a nearly silent grunt.

"No need to shout, Lord Baelish, I am not deaf nor do I care what dank corner you care to retire into," Lord Renly replied, with a grin.

"Perhaps not, Lord Renly, but what you might care about are the hundred gold dragons you now owe Lady Azula in the absence of her Lord Husband," Baelish retorted, before shuffling off out of the tourney grounds.

In the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Lady Azula raise her eyebrow, while the Queen summoned a servant towards her, whispering something in his ear, to which the servant quickly nodded and exited the stands.


	27. (King's Landing) Cersei II

(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Cersei II

' _What are those two plotting?'_ Cersei thought to herself, subconsciously leaning in, as she saw that foreign interloper sit by her Lord Husband and whisper something into his ear. The Lady Azula's ' _Fireguard_? _Flameguard_?' Or whatever laughably unimaginative title she bestowed upon them remained, on guard, below. It's as if they somehow knew they had no place with royalty. ' _Good_ , Cersei thought, _at least the whore knew enough to teach them that, now the only thing needed was for 'Lady' Azula to follow suit and remain below with the rest of the commoner rabble_.' It was enough that Jon Arryn's suspicious death had put everyone in King's Landing on edge, herself included, but the continued whispers in court of supposed betrayal from wronged nobles, like the Martells and Tyrells, to blatant attempts by the various 'lesser' houses, and _Lannisters_ to gain additional influence, were becoming most grating and, worst of all, distracting. ' _Ha!_ _As if we didn't control King's Landing already.'_ Several individuals responsible for fanning any hints of Lannister betrayal were found out by Lord Varys, or Cersei herself, and summarily silenced. ' _But that woman. That woman had accompanied them all the way to Winterfell all those months ago, for Robert's fool choice of his next hand, and had proven herself to be a most vexing annoyance.'_

After years of silence from Dragonstone, following the Greyjoy Rebellion, and prior to the death of Jon Arryn, the Lady Wife of Stannis Baratheon suddenly emerged and imposed herself within court. She brought with her those fire worshipping fanatics, and ' _whatever caused such blind devotion made those cretin impossible to turn to her side_ ,' Cersei thought. Every attempt to quietly kill them off to reduce that woman's influence was met with abject failure as more sprang up from the very ground, it seemed, to replace their losses. The only bright side to this mummer's play was that this seemed to bring a certain resolve to the eunuch. He appeared to be much more amicable to cooperation than usual, as evidenced by his constant need to weed out the woman's spies. Even so, while fervent, her spies proved to be very slippery indeed, and even Varys had a hard time locating all of them. While her spies had clawed their way into the cisterns and shadowy places of King's Landing, the Lady Azula, herself, was mostly idle and remained in the open. From all reports, she was only seen visiting a few blacksmiths and the Guildhall of the Alchemists, accompanied by her two Flameguard and an elderly man bearing the look of a maester. She began enlisting the services of those she found capable of keeping up with her demands and offered gracious amounts of gold and promises of stable incomes at Dragonstone if they chose to enter her employ. Commoners they may have been, but stupid they were not. Many of those approached saw it as a lucrative deal, which could change their fortunes, so they quickly uprooted themselves and their families and set sail for Dragonstone.

After what appeared to be an eternity of thought, Cersei noticed the Master of Ships rise and excuse himself. ' _How odd_ ,' she thought, ' _what would cause Stannis Baratheon to leave without preamble?'_ Before having the chance to dwell on the thought Cersei heard a loud ' _CRASH,'_ signifying the competitors; Ser Hugh and Ser Steffon had clashed. Deep in thought, she had forgotten about the match entirely and hadn't even heard the horn signaling them to start. Cersei cursed to herself, ' _yet another, gods damned, distraction!_ _Now she could not even think about the high level of stress brought about by Arryn's death without bringing up the added stress of Stannis' whore!_ '

It was then that Cersei realized that Jon Arryn died _after_ the Lady Azula arrived from Dragonstone. ' _It couldn't be, could it? What possible reason would that woman have for murdering Jon Arryn?'_ Granted, it had apparently been a boon to Cersei, as it was later reported the late Hand had been investigating Robert's bastards. From the information Pycelle had given her, Arryn had seemed to be close to knowing of her children's true parentage. It was sheer chance that old man had fallen ill when he did, otherwise, all her work would have been undone. The only reason, she could think, that Azula would have to assassinate Jon Arryn would've been to add chaos to King's Landing, in the form of rumors of hidden plots and quiet assassinations, and add animosity between Houses Stark and Lannister if the new Hand ever found out. If her children proved to be bastards, then Stannis would be next to inherit, but such would have been easier if Jon Arryn had lived. ' _So what was her game?'_ Cersei questioned herself, eyes boring into the back of the foreign woman's head as if trying to read her very thoughts. After a few moments of trying to divine the woman's mind, Cersei relented, looked up and saw Ser Steffon trot off the field. His Lord Father having already departed.

Just then she heard the Master of Coin announce, "It appears my patience for these tedious games has run its course, Lord Renly, I am going to retire to my chambers," noticeably louder than necessary, given Renly was only a few seats away, even she heard him... ' _Baelish!'_

Baelish knew Jon Arryn more than any other man save Robert and Eddard, and if Jon told anyone of his suspicions, it was Baelish. Stannis himself had obviously not been privy to this information otherwise he would have gone straight to Robert, then again it may have just been seen as a naked grab for power. Even so, if Stannis had known, he was not very good at being subtle, and the death of Jon Arryn should have caused him to flee. After all, he only had a handful of Flameguard at his command, and if it came to blows, Cersei and her Lannister guards could have certainly ended his life and that of his meddling Lady wife's too.

"No need to shout, Lord Baelish, I am not deaf nor do I care what dank corner you care to retire into," she heard Renly reply.

To which Baelish responded, "Perhaps not, Lord Renly, but what you might care about are the hundred gold dragons you now owe Lady Azula in the absence of her Lord Husband," before shuffling off out of the tourney grounds.

The Queen saw Lady Azula, turn her head, slightly, to the side, acknowledging the commotion.

Motioning for a servant to come, Cersei whispered to him. "Find Lord Baelish, and tell him the Queen wishes to speak with him…" before quickly adding, "…about the wasteful spending done in this tourney," in order to mask her intentions in case this servant was not hers. The man bowed and scampered off to find the Master of Coin. Satisfied she was going to get answers from the simpering little man, she turned her attentions back to the Lady Azula.

"What's this about gold dragons, Lord Renly?" asked the woman, a smirk playing at her lips.

The Master of Laws sat silently before he relented and spoke of his ill-fated bet with his brother. "T'was a friendly wager between my brother and I involving the recent match between Ser Hugh and your Knightly Son," he then added with a playful grimace, "I chose poorly."

"I take that to mean you did not choose my son? Tsk. Tsk. How petty of you to choose against family simply because he beat you," she added in that grating voice of hers, having arisen and walked towards Lord Renly, "No, I was not here, but I certainly heard of that humiliating defeat." Jutting out her hand, the woman asked in the most nauseatingly sweet voice she could muster, "Where is my husband's gold? He would ever so wish to have it with him, he doesn't approve of unpaid debts…" she glanced towards Cersei, with a smirk.

' _Take a good look, this will be the last face you see,_ Cersei fumed, inwardly, at this foreigners brazenness. _Perhaps I will have Ser Gregor teach you some manners before you die.'_


	28. (King's Landing) Cersei III

(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Cersei III

' _This damned tourney has gone on for too long,'_ Cersei thought in annoyance. ' _Her 'Kingly' husband had long ago gotten deep into his cups, as usual_ '. The only reason she had deigned to stay for all these tedious jousts was to keep an eye on the foreign woman from Dragonstone. That up jumped peasant from across the seas, who claimed to be a princess, was no one to Cersei Lannister. _'She was a minor obstacle, nothing more_ ,' she believed. ' _Even so, she had aggravated her to no end,_ ' her mind reeled in anger as she continued staring at the woman who had sat down after retrieving her Lord Husband's gold from his fop of a brother. _'Within months after the Rebellion, the bitch had managed to negotiate with that fool Jon Arryn into wedding, the then heir of the Seven Kingdoms, Stannis Baratheon. Somehow slithering her way into the line of succession of the Iron Throne! A feat which even her father had not managed to accomplish between herself and Rhaegar Targaryen!'_ Exasperated, she clenched her fists and shut her eyes in rage. _'As if that had not been infuriating enough, the woman had been outside the broken tower 'practicing' combat stances with her little whore of a daughter! While that daughter of hers, Ursa, had looked genuinely surprised, Azula Baratheon's face had given nothing away_.' The woman had quickly apologized and dropped to one knee, along with her daughter, _'perhaps kneeling too quickly?_ ' While the interloper had been bending the knee, she remembered her stating something about "thinking the place secluded enough to get some training in before sunset." Cersei had glanced towards her brother and her lover's eyes had told her that he would have cut them both down if she had given the word. _'What a foolish idea,'_ had been her thought, _'we'd never be able to hide it!_ ' She motioned for them to rise, and after a brief talk about the weather and Winterfell, they continued on with their business. The woman had suspiciously refrained from asking the most damning question of all, _'What had Ser Jamie Lannister and Queen Cersei Baratheon been doing alone in the tower?'_

The tell-tale sound of the crash of rival jousters had again shaken her out of her thoughts. Her father's bannerman, Ser Gregor Clegane, had just finished knocking Ser Aron Santagar out of the match. _'With any luck, the Mountain or her lover would 'accidentally' kill the heir of Dragonstone in their bout, should Ser Steffon make it that far,'_ she pondered callously, a hint of a smile tickling her lips. After Ser Gregor had vacated the field she watched, with detached fascination, as men cleared the area to prepare for another match. Much to her and her son's dismay, Ser Steffon was slated to joust next against Ser Barristan Selmy. The drunken oaf had even had the audacity to cheer, with the rest of the gathered peasants, as his nephew had been announced.

"You see there boy?" he slurred, drunkenly swaying from his seat towards her perfect lion. "See how they love him? If you stopped hiding behind your mother's skirts, they would love you too! Gods, he's strong, that one! Definitely a Baratheon!" Her face blanched.

With masked panic, Cersei surveyed the cheering crowd. _'None had heard…'_ she thought in relief before her golden lion rose abruptly and stalked off. She had tried to console him by reaching for his arm, but he snapped it away. She gazed sadly at the retreating form of her beautiful son, and Ser Meryn Trant, who was closely trailing behind him. Her brother had remained at his _King's_ side, with Ser Boros Blount.

"Bah! Baratheon's don't flee!" bellowed the inebriated stag.

She whirled her head around, to glare daggers at Robert Baratheon, before asking, through gritted teeth, "Your _Grace_? Do you think it wise to humiliate your own son in front of all these…" , she hesitated in disgust, " _people_?"

"Of course I do!" he stated with finality, belching at the end. "The boy must face harsh truths and rise above them," he continued, his voice somehow finding stability and resolve even after drinking enough ale and wine to kill ten men. "You coddle him too much Cersei, you weaken him," he said gravely. He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity, a contest of wills, as the Lion and the Stag vied for dominance over the other. Then, without warning, he shifted his mood and gazed past her. A smile began forming on his face, and she knew what was coming. She felt h before she heard her, and she shuddered in hate.

"Your graces?" she bowed.

"Goodsister! No need for that! Come! Rise! Let me look upon you," thundered, the King, joyfully as he gazed at her. Cersei saw a sense of longing reaching his eyes before he quickly cast it aside. "You grow lovelier with each passing day! My brother is quite a fortunate man. Dour and humorless, but fortunate!" he concluded, as his momentary bout of anger dissipated.

"You flatter me, your Grace," she smiled timidly before giving a slight, but respectful bow. "But surely I cannot be as lovely as your majestic wife?"

' _That two faced whore!'_ Cersei shouted mentally.

"Yes, of course," he said solemnly, before asking, "What brings you to your King?"

"A request," the woman stated.

"Ask and it is yours, Goodsister."

"I had a lordly helmet forged on Dragonstone bearing a passing likeness to your own. The one you wore as you won the seven kingdoms. I was hoping it would not be too disrespectful to ask if my son, your nephew, would have your Grace's leave to wear it during the remainder of the tourney? I know it is much to ask, but…" as she spoke, a worried look began forming on the woman's face.

"Of course, Goodsister!" he interjected before she completed her request. "But first I must view this helmet to see if it pleases my eye."

The Lady Azula shot a quick glance at one of her Flameguard, who nodded in acknowledgment. The man then rushed into the tent which held the jousters. He emerged, a few moments later, alongside the second true born son, of the Hand of the King.

' _Bran? Was that his name?'_ Cersei questioned herself.

He carried with him an object draped in cloth. As he was passing his father and sister, an excited grin formed on his face. The Lord Hand and the Lady Sansa both smiled in return. She noticed Sansa had a slight pause in confusion before returning her little brother's smile. The little northern boy brought it up to the foot of the stands and waited, on bent knee. The _Lady_ of Dragonstone stepped down towards the boy, passing the northern barbarian, along the way. Cersei had noticed the quick glance the Lord Hand and the bitch had shared before Azula had turned her attentions to the Hand's son, who was holding the satin covered helmet. She delicately took the object from the boy and returned towards the foot of the King of Westeros.

"My King, I present to you the humble offerings of the smiths of Dragonstone," she stated after bending the knee and holding up the satin covered offering.

Cersei's husband could barely contain his drunken excitement as he reached to tear the red covering off of the helmet. As he tore it away, the gathered crowd seemed to be stunned to silence. The helmet had a dark, nearly obsidian, sheen that seemed to absorb the light of the sun. The eye slits had the pointed look of an angry man and were bordered within a thin sliver of gold. The mouth slits, on the other hand, were in a simple parallel pattern that arched upward, mimicking a cruel black smile. Finally, at its head, was a crown of buck-sized golden antlers.

"This is bloody MAGNIFICENT!" he proclaimed. "As King, I demand to be allowed to wear this fine piece of crafted steel!"

"I would have none other try it on before you, your Grace," she bowed.

The King of the Seven Kingdoms lifted the helmet off its satin cloth and after a bit of heaving, donned the buck's helmet. "It feels GREAT to be back in some armor!" he said, before looking down towards his hand, who looked amused. "A helmet is _STILL_ armor Ned! Ha! I may not fit into my breastplate, but by the gods, this helmet is good enough!" he continued, his voice reverberating within the helmet. "Well then, that's enough of that," he grunted, as he took off the helmet. "Fine work, goodsister. Your son has my blessing to wear it."

"Thank you, your Grace," she bowed and smiled thankfully, before whirling around and descending the stands to give the helmet back to Ser Steffon's squire.


	29. (King's Landing) Sansa II

(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Sansa II

"Bah! Baratheon's don't flee!" bellowed the inebriated stag.  
Sansa and her father spun their heads around to identify the source of the commotion. Both had seen the King shouting after his son's retreating form, to Sansa's dismay. The Queen had scowled at her Kingly Husband, Robert Baratheon, before whispering something only the two of them could hear. Her father had a grim look on his face, and Lord Renly seemed amused. The Lady Azula had either not heard or had chosen to ignore the King's outburst. She had remained gazing out, thoughtfully, towards the tourney grounds, before rising from her seat. As the Lady Azula stalked towards the Royal box, Sansa couldn't help but stare at how she moved. Her movements were fluid, her steps light and free, but with a sense of power and refinement. 'She held herself with a royal bearing even more so than the Queen, herself,' Sansa was ashamed to admit. As the Lady of Dragonstone approached the royal box Sansa could see the King and Queen having a heated discussion. The most likely topic involving her betrothed. They had instances in which their voices would rise, but the majority of the conversation between the two had been in harsh whispers. Sansa had only been able to hear every other word, "truths…rise…..you…..weaken….him…"

Suddenly, the King shifted his mood and gazed past his Queen and towards Azula, who had come up from behind the Queen. She called their attention towards her, uttering "Your graces?" before bowing. The King burst into a jovial mood and dismissed the standard formalities she had displayed.

"Goodsister! No need for that! Come! Rise! Let me look upon you," he had thundered, his gazing wandering. "You grow lovelier with each passing day! My brother is quite a fortunate man. Dour and humorless, but fortunate!" Sansa had the thought of the King having been too forward with his affections for Lord Stannis' lady wife, and she noticed her father frowning, seemingly agreeing with her.

"You flatter me, your Grace," Azula had said, smiling timidly before giving a slight, but respectful bow. "But surely I cannot be as lovely as your majestic wife?"

She saw a dark look cross the Queen's face after Azula spoke her words, and Sansa grew fearful for Lord Stannis' Lady wife.

"Yes, of course," the King had responded glumly, before asking the Lady of Dragonstone, "What brings you to your King?"

"A request," she stated simply.

"Ask and it is yours, Goodsister."

The Lady Azula had begun to explain of a helmet she had forged on Dragonstone and how it would be an honor if Ser Steffon be allowed to don it in the upcoming match. Through it all, Sansa could not take her eyes off of the Queen. Queen Cersei held the most baleful gaze towards Lady Azula, and the Lady of Dragonstone had not noticed. This seemed to have angered the Queen more before the King announced his answer to his goodsister's request.

"Of course, Goodsister! But first I must view this helmet to see if it pleases my eye," he said.  
Sansa saw Lady Azula fire a look towards one of her Flameguard, who nodded their head in acknowledgment. The man then rushed into the tent which held the jousters. He emerged, a few moments later, alongside her little brother, Bran.

'Bran? What was he doing here in the tourney? The last I saw him was in the tower of the hand,' she thought to herself. As he approached he was carrying an object, draped in a rich satin cloth, within his slightly too small arms. He seemed terribly excited and Sansa couldn't help but smile as he passed, even though she had no idea why he had been present before the thought had struck her. 'He always wanted to be a knight, and he came to perhaps squire for one,' she thought, thinking back on her brother and the high regard he held for the eldest child of Stannis Baratheon.

After the Stepstones, Sansa remembered her little brother always speaking of Ser Steffon. He would rant about how Ser Steffon had "bested a thousand pirates with his sword and wits, alone!" A number greatly exaggerated, Sansa and everyone else knew, but her brother had not let it dampen his spirits. In truth, no one but Steffon Baratheon himself knew how he escaped that large den of pirates, and perhaps none would ever find out. The idea of a thirteen-year-old convincing a whole lair of monstrous pirates, rapists, slavers, and murderers, into killing themselves, was preposterous. However, it was the most widely believed tale of Ser Steffon 'Silver-tongue' Baratheon, and everyone had their own version. So much so, that she would often overhear her two eldest brothers, Robb and Jon, get into numerous, tedious, arguments about the subject. The Lady Ursa would sometimes be present with Arya at her side. She would always find the darkest corner, and stand in the room, facing the door. As Sansa's elder brothers argued, a grim scowl would adorn Ursa's face, whilst Arya did her best to mimic her new friend's firm guise. Together they watched as the argument proceeded towards its eventual end, with neither side having achieved a modicum of victory. Sansa would find the arguments dreadfully boring, but Steffon Baratheon had fascinated her enough to, at least, spend some time hearing of his exploits.

Steffon Baratheon aside, Sansa still held a slight amount of jealousy towards the daughter of the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone. It had bothered her when Arya had chosen to remain behind, with Ursa, in Winterfell. The only thing that hurt more, was that Arya only thought the choice difficult because she also wanted to remain with Azula, who would return to King's Landing with the King and his Royal entourage. In any event, Sansa's continued ruminations, brought her towards the single most obvious conclusion, on Bran's presence here at the tourney. 'Spectators do not carry the weapons and armor of Knights, in a tourney,' Sansa knew, 'Therefore, Bran was likely Ser Steffon's squire or the squire of another Knight,' and Sansa was happy at the thought that someone, other than herself, from her family, was realizing their dreams. She watched her brother clamber up to the foot of the stands, bend his knees, and present the satin covered helmet, towards the King. The Lady Azula glided down the steps, towards Bran, glancing to her father, before gently removing the shrouded object from her little brother's hands, and bringing it up to the King.

"My King," she began, to the King's delight, after bending the knee, "I present to you the humble offerings of the smiths of Dragonstone."

King Robert excitedly tore away the red covering and sat awestruck at the frightfully nightmarish helm the Lady Azula had crafted for her son. 'It looks like a smiling demon with golden horns,' Sansa thought. The King, however, had not shared her opinion on its hideousness. He had, instead, praised Azula and had demanded to wear the ghastly thing. A wish, which the Lady Azula, had happily agreed to.

As the King of the Seven Kingdoms, donned the monstrous helm, he began to holler on the great feeling of being in armor again. He had even called towards her father on how a "helmet is still armor," to which her father smiled, causing him to let loose a quiet chuckle under his breath. After the King had had his fill of wearing the helm, he removed it and returned it to the Lady of Dragonstone.

"Thank you, your Grace," Azula stated and bowed, smiling thankfully. She rounded back down the stands to give the helmet back to Bran. Bran, gave a slight bow towards the Lady Azula and King Robert before the King dismissed him.

"Go on Lad!" he said joyfully, smiling towards her little brother, "Go give my nephew his helm, and let everyone see how I was in my youth!"

Bran sped away from the stands towards the tent which held his mentor. As she waited, for Ser Steffon 'Silver-tongue' and Ser Barristan 'the Bold' to make their entrance, Sansa had taken the time to observe the other nobles present within the crowd. After skimming the outskirts of the stands, she spotted the ward of Tywin Lannister under heavy guard. Ser Loras Tyrell, youngest son of Lord Mace Tyrell, had his arms crossed at his chest, and observed the crowd in what Sansa could tell was a look of pure disgust. His head was comprised of cropped, brown hair, and his face was as stone. "Hard and uncompromising," much like Tywin himself, or so her father had said of the man. His eyes, like Azula and her children, were golden. However, unlike the Dragonstone children and their mother, his eyes did not share their fire. His eyes were dead, devoid of feeling, and Sansa pitied him. 'He was handsome, to be sure,' Sansa thought, but his stance and grim look made her know that he was dangerous. His armor was wrought in gold and red, a single jeweled flower at its center, clenched between the fearsome fangs of a golden lion. He had made it far and was one victory away from the semi-finals. He was slated to match next, against Ser Jamie, after the bout between Ser Steffon and Ser Barristan had concluded.

Ser Loras and his sister, Margaery, had been the terms of Mace Tyrell's release, all those years ago. After two years of imprisonment, in Storm's End, Mace Tyrell had finally relented. Only doing so, after his mother, the Lady Olenna, had sent word of his bannermen's growing restlessness.

"Restless bannermen are cause for alarm, for any lord," her father had said, years later, when she had asked of the great houses of the south. "I did not envy the man then, nor do I envy him now. His sacrifice was a difficult one, and his position was impossible to navigate. He was caught between the flame and the lion. Neither would leave him unscathed." From what her father had told her, the original terms for release had been for Lord Stannis to receive Loras, as ward, while Margaery went to Lord Tywin. However, Lord Arryn had reportedly sent word to her father that Tywin had refused to take the girl, and had instead demanded the boy. The arguments between Storm's End, Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and King's Landing had apparently been the talk of the Seven Kingdoms for several years afterward. Ultimately, Lord Tywin had won.

"What good is an invincible fleet? If there is no gold to see it built?" her father had told her, before adding, "Lord Tywin's words. Not mine." Even as he had said it, she remembered his jaw clenching in anger. He had no doubt been driven to it by Lord Tywin's direct challenge to his friend, the King, and how Lord Arryn, his mentor, had allowed it to go unanswered.

Caught deep in thought, Sansa was startled when the horn announcing the entrance of the jousters sounded. She focused on the two knights entering the field, Ser Steffon was clad in his black armor and smiling demon head helm, while Ser Barristan bore the brilliant white armor and cape of the king's guard. Truth be told, Sansa had a small sense of excitement, as she thought it a match only found in her songs. 'A heroic white knight facing off against a villainous black knight,' she thought with glee, before remembering that Ser Steffon was not a monster. 'His armor only made him seem so,' her mind thought in embarrassment, as she remembered his handsome face and radiant smile. As they made their way towards the foot of the stands, facing the King, the crowd roared in anticipation. Cries of "Steffon!" and "Barristan!" were heard, before the cheers of "Barristan" were drowned out by the chant of "Silver-tongue! Silver-tongue! Here comes the Silver-tongue!" Upon reaching the royal box, they opened their face plates and bowed to their King, before he spoke.

"Ser Steffon Silver-tongue!" Ser Steffon's head shot upwards, giving his King his full attention. King Robert pointed at him, "That is my nephew!" His face was slightly red, but full of smiles and joy, before he added, with a sly grin, "And ladies of Westeros, please, calm yourselves! His title of Silver-tongue is only because of his ability to speak!"

The men in the stands had laughed and a few of the women swooned, except for the Queen and the Lady Azula. Both wore a face full of embarrassment, as the Queen's eyes swirled with anger, the Lady Azula's possessed a mix of irritation with a slight hint of amusement. Sansa was confused, she had not understood what the King had meant by that, and when she looked towards her father, he also looked embarrassed. However, as she laid eyes on Ser Steffon, his face was as red as a turnip.

"Go on, and make me proud, nephew!" commanded the king.

"I will try, your grace!" he said hopefully, his youthful face glowing with determination and left over embarrassment, before bowing and galloping to his end of the field.

"And Ser Barristan?" the king uttered.

"Yes, my king?" the old knight answered, seemingly immune to the king's previous and apparently embarrassing remark.

"Don't kill the lad. I would be very upset," he said, his mood changing slightly, but still jovial.

"I will try not to, your grace," Ser Barristan said, as he slapped his visor shut, bowed and galloped towards his side of the arena.

She watched as Ser Steffon readied his horse. A smile rose to her face as she saw her brother emerge from the jouster's tent and rush towards Ser Steffon, with ecranche in hand. He was followed by the tall, slim, young heir to the Iron Islands, who was carrying Ser Steffon's jousting lance. They appeared to exchange a few words, as the young Greyjoy ruffled Bran's hair, causing him to smile. After the exchange, Ser Steffon armed himself, and they moved away. She glanced towards Ser Barristan at the opposite end of the field and heard a trumpet sound. The White Knight and the Black Knight charged at each other, their horses galloping beneath them.


	30. (King's Landing) Sansa III

(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Sansa III

The dirt rose up behind the charging horses, like smoke, as the old white knight and young black knight rode to engage one another. She had nearly been unable to watch as both lances struck each other, shattering their tips into splinters. Both knights rode past each other, as the broken fragments of their lances harmlessly bounced off their armors, and ecranches. When they reached the opposite ends of the tilt, Sansa saw them lift their visors, revealing a pair of dumbfounded looks underneath. The knights looked at each other, and smiled, bowing their heads slightly. The crowd fell silent, and she heard the sharp intake of breath, before the people in stands began cheering, herself included. She turned towards the Lady Azula, who held a soft clap, and a straight face. The King was all smiles, while the Queen maintained her stoic regal demeanor. Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard whispered something into the King's ear, who waved him off, before departing from the stands. _'Likely to prepare for the next bout?'_ she thought. As Ser Steffon lingered at his end of the tilt, Ser Theon rushed up and brought the young knight a replacement for his destroyed weapon. The heir to the Iron Islands had a head of cropped black hair and wore rough black gloves, heavy black leather boots, loose black pants fastened by a black leather belt, and a dark gray undershirt covered by a black and gold vest. The only hint of his Greyjoy heritage was the small golden Kraken pinned to his right breast. While the young knights engaged in a brief conversation amongst themselves, Sansa saw her little brother, Bran, run out towards the center of the tilt to retrieve the larger remains of Ser Steffon's shattered lance.

"Gods! Now that is jousting! Have another go!" Bellowed the King, as he clapped loudly, over the roar of the crowd. Her father remained silent, smiling as he looked towards an excited Bran, who was dutifully recovering the lance debris. A guarded expression overcame him as he shifted his gaze towards the King's nephew, who spoke with Ser Theon. In this brief intermission, Sansa glanced to where Lord Lannister's Tyrell ward, Ser Loras 'the Blood Rose,' stood, and caught sight of Ser Jaime approaching him. The imposing, yet handsome, Tyrell knight had his arms crossed and seemed to be casting a baleful sneer towards Ser Steffon. As Ser Jaime approached, the Tyrell ward turned back to face him, with dead eyes and a slight bow. Ser Jaime muttered something, as Sansa saw his lips moving before he led Ser Loras out of sight. 'The Blood Rose' cast one last look towards Ser Steffon, before disappearing behind the stands with Ser Jaime and his Lannister guard. Sansa had not known how Ser Loras had earned his moniker, only that it involved Ser Gregor, who knighted him, and some brigands in the Westerlands. After Ser Jaime and Ser Loras secreted themselves away, she saw her little brother finish gathering the large wooden fragments, and rush back towards Sers Steffon and Theon. The young knights and squire exchanged a few words before Ser Theon and Bran retreated back to their area near the stands. Ser Steffon lowered his visor and maneuvered his mount into position, with Ser Barristan following suit on his end of the tilt. A trumpet sounded, causing the horses to charge, while King Robert bellowed, "About bloody time! Unhorse him, nephew!"

The world fell away, and all she could hear was the thundering of hooves beating against the ground. She saw the knights growing closer, and the crowd seemed to grow silent. Her father held his chin in contemplation as he observed the lances of the rival knights connect with each other's shields, over the tilt, in a momentous crash. Both knights remained on their mounts, shaken but not defeated, as they rode past each other towards opposite ends. Once again, Sansa saw her little brother race towards the site of the clash, busily removing the remains of Ser Steffon's shattered lance, assisted by Ser Barristan's own runner. The crowd roared, with the King being loudest of all. Lady Azula gave off a soft clap, her face still stern and serious. The Queen, however, had been glaring at both mother and son, wringing a scented cloth in her clenched hands. Sansa could not understand why the Queen reacted as such, and it confused her. _'She should be happy, her husband's own kin was achieving glory,'_ she thought. She looked over to where Ser Theon was as he hefted up another lance to replace Ser Steffon's uselessly broken one. Her brother, Bran, having quickly returned to Ser Steffon's side after clearing the debris, took hold of Ser Steffon's broken lance. The young Baratheon knight, visor raised, moved to reach for the spare before Ser Theon grasped his shoulder and lowered him down to whisper something only the three of them, her brother included, could hear. After a few moments, Ser Theon released his grip on the fresh lance, and slapped Ser Steffon on the shoulder, causing the three to laugh heartily. "Come! Let's have another!" thundered the King, "Show him what's what nephew!" Ser Theon and her brother backed away from Ser Steffon, as he shut his visor closed, and readied his mount. Before the horn sounded, she saw Sers Jaime and Loras return back towards the edge of the stands, focusing on the match between Ser Steffon and Ser Barristan. The horn trumpeted, and the horses set off for a third time, carrying the past and future of knightly chivalry, embodied by the young Ser Steffon and the elder Ser Barristan. As they clashed, their lances shattering against their jousting shields, she saw Ser Barristan wobble slightly, causing the crowd to gasp, before he regained his bearings and returned to form. At the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Ser Jaime grinning, and stroking his chin, looking towards Ser Steffon. Ser Loras frowned and pounded a closed fist over the wooden barrier separating the stands and the jousting area.

After the third pass, her little brother once again rushed out towards the center of the tilt yard to recover the splintered remnants of Ser Steffon's lance, aided by Ser Barristan's runner. Ser Barristan sat atop his mount and surrendered his broken weapon to his nearby lance handler. Ser Barristan the Bold spared a moment to rotate his shoulder several times before calling for a fresh lance replacement. Several within the crowd saw this and began to mutter amongst themselves. "He appears to be injured," she whispered to her father.

"That he does. A sprain, perhaps?" her father replied, eyeing the old knight. Ser Barristan held off on the spare lance, as his gaze appeared fixed over to the opposite end of the tilt yard. The gathered spectators began to stir as they saw Ser Steffon trotting down along the tilt without his lance. Sansa and her father both looked to the young knight as he approached the center with Ser Barristan closing in from the opposite side. As the two met in the center, they lifted their visors and seemed to exchange a few words with each other. After a few moments, they shook hands, closed their visors, and returned to their areas on opposite ends of the tilt, where they readied their mounts and lances. At the sound of the horns trumpet, they set forth, gracefully lowering their lances, and preparing to strike.

"You have him, nephew! Knock him on his arse!" the King shouted, as knights drew nearer to each other.

With a loud 'crash' the lances shattered, a body fell, and an air of disappointment settled over the crowd. Ser Steffon's lance had crumpled against Ser Barristan's shield, while Ser Barristan's lance struck true, smashing off center, between Ser Steffon's pauldron and chestplate, near the besagew. The heir of Dragonstone was thrown off his horse, casting up a small plume of dirt, as he crashed onto the ground. While the dust settled, she looked towards the Queen and saw a confused look painted over her face. When Sansa followed the Queen's eyes, she saw the object of her confusion. There, standing tall and proud, was the beaming Lady Azula, clapping her hands feverishly, along with the rest of those in attendance. As Ser Steffon rose, she caught sight of Ser Barristan rounding back towards the fallen knight. A brief pause ensued while Ser Steffon removed his helm, revealing a beautiful dirt covered face glistening with sweat, and beaming a devilishly handsome smile. As the Lord Commander closed around Ser Steffon, atop his horse, he lowered his hand. The heir of Dragonstone took the hand offered and shook it with fervor. "Ser Barristan the Bold!" he announced, exchanging looks with the crowd, his mother in particular, and the knight in question. "You have offered me a great and honorable match. You have my gratitude," the Silver-tongue said, placing his right arm beneath his chest and bowing at the last. The throng of onlookers began increasing in excitement, thundering louder than before, with chants of 'Steffon Silver-tongue,' and 'Barristan the Bold,' hollered in equal measure.

"Ser Steffon Silver-tongue!" the king boomed, silencing the crowd, and drawing the full attention of the two knights, both of whom had bowed in respect before being addressed. She saw his grace observe the crowd, and his nephew, drawing out an uncomfortable silence. After what seemed like an eternity, he roared in laughter and declared, "That was a bloody good match! Could have used a little more jousting instead of chatting before the start of the last pass," he winked to the crowd, who laughed. "Ser Barristan, you have presented yourself well and acted as all knights should. You have defeated my nephew but have shown him courtesy and honor. However, he is young yet, and a Baratheon's fury boils inside him," the king looked towards Ser Steffon, pride sparkling in his eyes. "I am sure he will see you unhorsed at the next tourney." A small part of her had wished Ser Steffon to emerge victorious in this competition, and yet another part of her wished his defeat, if only because she knew her betrothed disliked him. She saw Ser Barristan remove his helm, and hold it off to his side.

"Of that, I have no doubt, your Grace," the old knight smiled, casting a brief look towards Ser Steffon, who held out the reins of his horse towards Ser Barristan.

' _The ransom for Ser Steffon's defeat,'_ she thought.

"Ser Barristan, if you accept my nephew's horse as ransom, then name your price, and I will buy it back," the king commanded.

"No need, your Grace. Knowing your nephew is an honorable knight, is ransom enough," Ser Barristan declared, politely declining the reins Ser Steffon presented.

"Thank you, Ser Barristan," the young knight replied, as he patted the large gray horse's neck "I would have found it somewhat difficult to part with Iroh. He is a stubborn old stallion, and I have no doubt he would have given you some difficulty had you claimed him."

"Then he and I share that in common!" Ser Barristan declared, causing the King, and the crowd, to enter into a fit of laughter. She briefly wondered if her ears had deceived her, as she could have sworn hearing a chuckle escape her father's lips.

"Go on, you two!" the king bellowed, between tears of slowly receding laughter. "Something tells me the rest of these matches will not be exciting as this one was."

The two knights bowed and went back to their tents. Sansa saw Ser Theon and her little brother, waiting eagerly outside the Steffon's jouster tent. As he approached, Ser Theon smacked the younger knight across the shoulder, before placing a friendly arm around Ser Steffon's neck, and gesturing wildly with his free hand, as they walked into the tent. The black haired Baratheon relinquished his helm to Bran, and together, all three disappeared from view. Off to the side, she noticed Sers Loras and Jaime, looking on in curiosity.


	31. (King's Landing) Cersei IV

(King's Landing: 9/24/298 AC) Cersei IV

"Can you really trust him? He isn't one of us, he's not a Lannister," she asked her lover. The sun was high, trying its hardest to pierce the leafy canopy above them, as they, her, her brother, and six Lannister guard walked through the Godswood of the Red Keep. Her house guard kept a respectable distance away from them, as she wished to speak with Jaime privately. Two days had passed since the end of the tourney, and she was fraught with worry.

"He may as well be. Father has taken him into his confidence. The son he never had," her brother said wistfully.

"Nonsense! Father would never accept an outsider into his council," jealously crawled up under her skin. _'He shouldn't! Loras isn't family!'_ she fumed inwardly, all the while knowing her father intended to make him family, by offering up Myrcella when she came of age.

"You know his reputation? How fiercely he defends the Westerlands? The example he made of those brigands? He shares the Mountain's cruelty, but what the Mountain lacks in subtlety and intellect, the Blood Rose makes up for it a thousand fold. I hear even Gregor had been impressed, when he had displayed his 'blood roses' down along the River Road, between Sarsfield and the Goldentooth." They came across a sheltered path, heavily shaded by the overhanging trees. "He has no reason to betray us, not to her, at any rate. He hates the woman as much as his father does."

She had to agree with that. While she disliked the idea of someone other than her being close to her father, she knew that if there was any singular family that hated the bitch more than she did, it was the Tyrells. She did not trust them, but she did trust in their hate. Just then she had suddenly realized that Jaime had grown silent after his words, as he seemed to be contemplating something. The only sound emanating from him was the clinking of the spotless white armor he wore, that identified him as a member of the King's guard.

"You know he will not be an outsider for long? Not if our father has his way?" he finally asked, as if a large weight had been taken off of his chest.

"What would you know of it?" she asked. When Ser Loras had arrived at King's Landing, several days prior to the tourney, he had given her a message, or a demand, if one knew her father. She was to convince Robert into sending Myrcella to be fostered at Casterly Rock. This was her father's attempt to gain a foothold in the Reach by seeing if a match between the Tyrell boy, and her daughter, his own granddaughter, would be possible in the future. According to what her father had 'advised' her to say, this was to be labeled as merely an effort to assuage any grievances the Tyrells may still have over the war _. 'Lord Tyrell, likely proposed this idea. Him or his senile old mother,'_ she thought. _'Regardless of who it was that sparked this idea,'_ she mused, _'what could the Tyrell's realistically offer?'_

Near the war's end, when word had reached her father of Lord Tyrell's capture, he had sent her uncle Kevan to Highgarden, with terms. When she had asked, he had told her that the terms had been for the old woman, and her son's eyes only. Once word had spread, of the fat flower's fate, everyone had known that hostages from the Tyrell family were going to be taken in exchange for Lord Tyrell's safe return. It was only a few years later, that father had finally deigned to tell her of the terms. They would give him Loras, and in return, he would pressure Arryn to convince Robert into granting Dragonstone, the poorer seat, to Stannis and his bitch. Unfortunately, the whore did not accept, and she claimed her own Tyrell ward. Furthermore, after Samwell Tarly's death, prior to the Greyjoy rebellion, the Reach had nearly fragmented. Every lord and peasant with even a passing relation to the Tarly's had laid down a claim to the Tarly lands. Only a select few had been appeased, with the larger, weaker portion having been denied any rights to those lands. The Tyrells themselves had taken the lion's share, which included the castle fortress of Horn Hill.

"He told me as such, during the joust between Ser Barristan and Steffon. That was when I gave him the letter indicating our suspicions of the Lady Azula. The one he is to deliver to father."

"I hope your trust in him, is well founded. As for Myrcella? Father cannot have her, she is our only daughter," she hissed.

"You know father only asks because you are his daughter?" Jaime replied.

"Father does not ask, father demands." She respected her father, and he was the sole reason the Lannisters returned to their former glory after her grandfather had nearly brought them to ruin. Tywin Lannister was the most feared man in Westeros, and she had often imagined herself as his equal before Westeros had decided that Stannis' whore was. She trusted in his wisdom, but she did not trust him in this. She did not trust anyone with her children, save herself.

"If you do not assist him, he will go straight to Robert, and find a way to take her anyways," came his solemn response.

"Ser Loras fed me that same trite, but I will tell you this brother. He can try." She knew it was futile to resist her father's will, but she was going to try anyways.

Jaime looked at her, with a raised eyebrow, before he spoke. "Regardless, we need more Lannister men, now, sweet sister. Lee has already been confirmed as Commander of the City watch, and he has already arrested quite a few within his ranks. Most of which have been charged with corruption and bribery. I think Stark likes him," he scoffed.

"Yes, I know," she interlocked her fingers and held her arms slight below her breast. The wide cuffs of her velvety red gown, allowed a soft breeze to enter and cool her down. "I have been told he has provided Baelish no small amount of headaches. He and I have tried to get rid of him, but Lee's guards never sleep!" She felt the cobblestone beneath her feet as they walked down the shaded path. "Thrice I have sent men, and thrice have they not returned. I know Baelish has sent his own, but I have no clue as to how many. No corpses have been found, nothing. Somehow the incompetent fools just managed to disappear without a trace."

"No one simply disappears, sister," he replied, the crunching of loose pebbles sounding beneath his feet.

"Here they do…" she whispered, catching a sweet scent in the air.

As they rounded a copse of trees, Cersei and her escort laid their eyes upon a comely older woman dressed in a gray, dingy dress. The gray woman was sitting alone, on a stone bench, with an open book on her lap. As the woman read, she used her fingers to procure cherries from a small wooden bowl, situated near her. A sudden breeze lightly swept through the underbrush, carrying the pleasantly sweet smell towards her. Another book rested at her side, with its pages closed. It was emblazoned with a bold title, _'The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling,'_ Cersei had read, as they approached.

"Your grace?!" the woman stood, in surprise, nearly knocking the bowl of cherries off of the small wooden stand on which they had been located. She placed the book on the stone bench, and quickly knelt before her, her voice quivering, "Apologies, your grace, I…" Cersei saw the panic welling up, behind her eyes, as the woman nervously patted down her dress. Her feverish motions caused her dark brown hair to begin shifting, and cascading down, over her shoulders. "I am not in presentable clothing, forgive me."

' _Pathetic,'_ she thought, studying the woman's face. _'She looks familiar.'_ "It is quite alright," she lied. "Who are you, and why are you here?" The woman remained, kneeling, never rising to her feet. _'Good.'_

"Stork, your grace," she replied, her voice shaking. "I am the Lady Azula's house servant."

' _I knew she looked familiar,'_ Cersei thought, having remembered spying her a few times, as part of the Stannis' household, when his bitch had first arrived in King's Landing. She had almost completely forgotten about her, as all reported sightings of her were few and far between. When she had been seen, she was either walking throughout the market buying fruit and clothing, or quietly reading in the servants quarters. _'Not a good mark to have followed,'_ she thought to herself, _'she does nothing. However, why waste this opportunity?'_

"She allowed me free time, as she toured the city with Lord Stannis, and their son Ser Steffon, your grace," she trembled.

"Touring the city is she?" Cersei questioned, knowing that her myriad of spies had told her as much. Cersei sat down on the stone bench the servant had previously been sitting on. "Did she name any place in particular?"

"The Eastern barracks, your grace. They wished to see the rebuilding efforts, and visit the Commander of the City Watch," the woman replied, glancing upwards, with fear in her eyes.

' _She fears me,'_ entered the thought, _'perhaps I can use her fear to turn her?'_ "Come, rise, and do not be afraid."

"As you…w…wish, your grace," she trembled, rising off her knees. The woman dusted herself off, before standing there awkwardly.

' _Imbecile, must I hold your hand?'_ she thought, before putting on a sweet voice. "Please, sit," she said, gesturing at the empty spot beside her. Jaime remained at her side, watchful of their surroundings. She saw her Lannister guard down the path, from where they had come, with a few appearing ahead. The woman grew ever more fearful, as her eyes darted back and forth. _'I could have you killed now, as a message to the bitch. Fortunately, for you, you are far more useful to me alive.'_ As the thoughts swirled around in her mind, Cersei could not shake off the feeling of danger. As the woman moved to sit next to her, the hairs on the back of Cersei's neck rose. The sweet smell that accompanied the woman seemed to amplify her senses as they began shouting of imminent peril. However, she was a Lannister, and they did not fear the sheep. When the woman sat, Cersei asked, "Where did you acquire that lovely scent?"

"Dragonstone, your grace," the woman replied, smelling her forearm. "The Lady Azula calls it 'essence of cherry blossom.' It is one of her favorite fragrances that she brought from her homeland. It had taken some time to recreate, only having been perfected a year ago. It is one of Dragonstone's exclusive exports," she smiled, before adding, "It seems to be fairly popular in Essos, especially Volantis."

"Strange, how has it not been introduced here?" she questioned, surprising herself with her genuine curiosity. The scent was exquisite, and she wanted it.

"The Lady Azula has granted exclusive rights to Essos, in exchange for access to their coal and coal deposits."

"Coal? The black rock that powers the Iron ships?" Cersei asked, somewhat off put by the fact that she did not truly know.

"The very same, your grace," the woman answered. "All shipments of coal, east of Volantis are shipped to the Stannis Fort, nestled near Volantis. The Lady Azula has great favor with the Red Temple and the Triarch, Malaquo Maegyr. This support is what allowed her to have the fort constructed."

"Quite a busy woman," she replied, trying hard to mask the hate and sarcasm in her voice. With her anger, came a bit of hunger, and she spied the small wooden bowl of cherries. "Stork?"

"Yes, your grace?"

"May I have a cherry?" Cersei asked, glancing back towards Jaime, who had begun to close in on the bowl. _'Regardless of the answer, I will have one,'_ she thought.

"Of course, your grace! Help yourself!" the woman offered, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

She looked towards the woman, who took her cue and picked at one, tossing it in her mouth. She played with it for a bit, before biting down. Cersei heard a crunch, and saw the woman's face change slightly, before returning to its calm state. "Hmmmm, delicious," she said, before moving her hands up towards her mouth, and spitting out a cherry pit. "My Lady usually has the pits removed," Stork gave her a sheepish grin. The woman picked up a few more, sliding them into her mouth and savoring the flavor. This time, she bit down and procured no pits. After a few moments, the woman lifted the bowl and presented it to her.

Cersei eyed the cherries within, and selected one with her right hand, lifting up the sleeve of her dress, so as not to dirty it. When the small red fruit entered her mouth, she bit down, craving the sweetness within. It burst between her teeth and flooded her taste buds with its pleasant flavor. As she chewed, she looked down, between them, where a book still lay. "'The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling," Cersei stated. "An interesting book?"

"Yes, your grace," the woman replied.


	32. (The Grove) Xai Bau II

(King's Landing: Grove of the Burning Tree: 9/25/298 AC) Xai Bau II

"What do you want creature?" he questioned, annoyed at its cold breath and how it began to seep into his bones. His eyes remained shut, and his breathing, calm, as he sat in the lotus position, underneath the burning tree. He felt its eyes on him, as they were prone to do. It spied everyone who came and went, emerging from the darkness when someone would enter. There it would stay watching, studying, before departing back into the void from whence it came.

Xai Bau's students had grown accustomed to the entity, albeit with some difficulty. Everyone who entered, could all feel it. It's heavy footsteps always thundered just out of the reach of the light. Low, guttural, growls, would accompany it as it circled them, looking for a way in. While it would most assuredly unnerve most, he was not afraid of it. The flame protected him, and gradually his students came to understand the same. However, not fearing it, did not mean that he would make the mistake of underestimating it. It had intelligence. It learned.

When he had first meditated, and arrived here, when the creature had been made aware, it had been animalistic, feral. It lashed out at the light of the small flame that had been awaiting him when he entered. A small, precious thing, barely brighter than a candle, burning atop a withering bush. And yet, the monster feared it, for a time. As he opened his eyes, he saw the glow of the flames reflecting off of its own numerous sets of eyes. While it had never spoken, Xai Bau had suspected it understood, for he had seen it listening attentively to the youngest daughter of Azula.

Little Ty Lee had stumbled into the grove, several months ago, whilst in her sleep. The Fire Lord's youngest had spoken to it, a haze clouding her eyes. The young princess had been fortunate that he had been there, for there was no telling what the creature had had in mind if it had drawn her in. At first, she appeared to have been speaking gibberish, but then he heard traces of Asshai'i, the language spoken in Asshai, in the far southeast of Essos. The language his late wife, Talana, had more experience in than he did. It was only after he had spoken to Steffon, who studied and understood the dead languages of this world, that he had been made aware of its origin. While Steffon had agreed that it held traces of Asshai'i, he had added that this particular dialect was far older than even Asshai'i, hinting at it being that language's predecessor.

After the incident with little Ty Lee, and the conversation he had with Steffon, who had reasonably asked why he had wished to know, was when he had revealed the truth about Ty Lee having been within the grove. Steffon had, understandably, panicked. They had both agreed to inform the Fire Lord then, rather than later, or remaining silent on the subject. The repercussions for not doing so would be far more fatal, if the worse came to pass and Azula's youngest disappeared into the void, with the creature. The Fire Lord had taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. She instantly became protective, questioning her youngest on if she held any memory of the incident, which she did not, before commanding that someone was to be present within the grove, at all times, no excuses. She had placed two repurposed to guard her youngest, who was not in the least frightened by them. She seemed to take their protection as friendship, and while they did not speak, Ty Lee had given the two the names; Stan and Boggles.

As he observed the creature, his mind grew dark, delving deep into contemplation of its nature. While seemingly lost in thought, he was not so far gone as to have not sensed a shift. To him, it felt as if someone had thrown a stone into a pond. He could feel the ripples travel through him, resonating out into the darkness. To its credit, the entity seemed to feel it as well, and its eyes, which had been so focused on his own, shot up, and stared at something behind him. Xai Bau rose from his seated position, and turned, to see the burning tree. It had grown noticeably taller, and at its center, was an oily black growth, appearing as a putrid boil on the tree's otherwise flawless golden trunk. He heard the creature's breathing change, becoming rapid, and erratic. As if it was uncertain, then it quieted and grew feral once more, gnashing what sounded like its teeth.

Xai Bau felt his curiosity get the better of him as he drew closer to the black boil, whose oily insides swirled, churning into ever-changing patterns, before a clear form emerged. A single shape, in the form of a glowing red diamond, with a perfectly circular black dot at its center, rose up from beneath the churning oil. It seemed to be staring at him, beckoning him to touch it. Much like the creature in the shadows had done in an attempt to draw him out into the dark. A creature, he noted, which had grown eerily silent. He turned, to see what had become of his monstrous companion, and saw no trace of it. The creature had vanished, causing a sense of unease to crawl up Xai Bau's spine. For several moments he stood there, staring out into the empty blackness. He began to hear a muddled voice speaking to him.

"Master?" the voice said, sounding as if a wall stood between him and the speaker.

"Xai Bau," he heard another voice whisper, coming from within the tree. It was in a deeper, more menacing tone than the muffled voice from before.

"Master?!" Questioned the younger voice, stronger, less subdued, and with a hint of panic.

He felt the fog, over his mind, lift, causing his senses to become clearer, and more focused. He blinked once, heard screams, and dark laughter. He saw Dragonstone, as he knew it, melt away. The second time, he saw a vast snowy field, surrounding the ruins of King's Landing, and heard his wife's voice whispering to him unintelligibly. The third blink found him sitting, in the lotus position, staring at his princely pupil, who sat in front of him, just out of arm's length.

"Xai Bau? Are you well?" Steffon asked, the concern evident in his golden eyes. The Fire Lord's son reared forwards and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

He could do nothing but stare at his star pupil in confusion. He had been standing alone, he remembered, staring into the dark, but now he was sitting. He looked back and saw the tree, which had grown over ten times larger, had reverted back into its original size, and shape. The black boil, which had marred its trunk, was gone.

'Was it a vision?' he asked himself, the outlandish thought ran through his mind, causing him to question his sanity. He returned his gaze towards Steffon. "I am quite alright," he lied. The prince raised an eyebrow before he saw Steffon's shoulders sink down, into a relaxed position.

"You were in deep meditation for quite some time," Steffon stated, as he placed his hands on his knees, and mirrored Xai Bau's seated pose.

"How long?" he asked.

"Several hours," Steffon replied.

Despite his concern, he had only managed to respond, "Hmmm, interesting."

"Your daughter and Sho Yu came by with their reports," Steffon continued.

"Jun?" he asked. "How was she?"

"She seemed excited. Spoke to me of a fondness she held for Lord Stark's son, Jon Snow. When she spoke of news, other than Jon Snow, she had virtually the same report she had from a fortnight ago."

"Of Tyrion Lannister?" He questioned, remembering Jun's report of the diminutive Lannister having passed through Winterfell on his return from the Wall.

"Yes," Steffon replied. "Other than that, the only thing she found of interest to report was news of catching Ursa and Robb Stark speaking to one another in Winterfell's Godswood."

"Well, the Fire Lord will certainly be happy to learn that," he replied.

"She most certainly would," Steffon said, chuckling slightly, before adding, "Alas, poor Robb Stark, he knows not what awaits him at her hands."

"Why did Jun not wake me?" He asked, mostly out of a fatherly curiosity to learn more of the boy she seemed to fancy. 'Young love,' he found himself thinking.

"She tried to wake you, but you remained still as a stone, and your breathing was relaxed. So she merely attributed it to a not unusually intense period of meditation, which you are inclined to engage in from time to time, I might add."

"Hmph," he replied. "So are you not concerned of Ursa potentially being married to a stranger?" he asked.

"Of course! I am her brother, and I am the second line of defense, after my father, in protecting her. Rest assured," the young prince's eyes focused, "Lord Stark, my father, and I have had many a conversation involving the two. From what Lord Stark says of his eldest, he appears to be an honorable sort, certainly, a better prospect than Instructor Chang wants us to see in his son, Takkar."

"Chang," he muttered. The aged instructor somehow managed to remain just beneath the Fire Lord's ire, but only just, simply by being useful.

"The man has been sniffing around my family for far too long," Steffon grumbled. "My father does not trust him and my mother most definitely does not. She took a big risk leaving the island when she did."

"So I hear," he replied. "However, the Fire Lord knows what she is doing, in keeping the Lady Mai holding Chang's leash. It was a wise move."

"One of the few, anywhere, who can stand against my mother and have a chance at victory," Steffon stated of the Fire Lord's closest, and only friend. "Chang would be a fool to challenge someone of her skill. Takkar, on the other hand, is far more subtle. But he is not as good as he thinks he is, at hiding it."

"Still believe he is capable of bending lightning?"

"Possibly," Steffon responded, in low voice. "I have seen how he moves when he spars. I may not be a bender, as far as I know…"

'As far as he knows?' Xai Bau thought, catching the statement.

"…but I studied enough, in my youth, to know what the stances were. Coupled with Chang's constant boasting of Takkar being my sister's rival and Takkar's relative silence on the subject. It's almost a certainty. His bending form is excellent, no doubts there, but from what I remember of Ursa's stances, and her own skill, Takkar, alone, is still not enough to best her in fair combat. He would have to have something in reserve, something my sister would have no counter for."

"And you suspect lightning?"

"Yes," Steffon replied. "Jun's reports on Ursa's progress, or lack thereof, in lightning bending, would seem to add merit to this. Especially if Chang or his son somehow found out."

"You mentioned, 'not being a bender, as far as you knew.' Care to elaborate?"

Steffon chuckled, "It slipped out, I should have known you would catch it." The young prince sighed, "I am currently pursuing a personal 'self-development' project with the Alchemists' guild."

"Oh?"

"The last time I was in King's Landing, I was being drawn to the guild. However, I had also been tasked with the mission of speaking with Lord Arryn, so I did not allow myself to be distracted. Now, as I wait for the King to set up a feast, in my honor, before I leave. I have nothing but time to find out why I was being drawn to it. I have stood in front of a cache of Wildfire, and you know what I felt?"

He remained silent, lifting his brows slightly, as a signal for Steffon to continue.

"Stronger. But Wildfire is not a substance that I can reliably test, not in secret, at any rate. If it all turns out to just be my mind playing tricks on me, then the fire could consume me. I would need a wide, secluded area, in order to safely test it. But with my mother watching my every move, it would be difficult to do so."

"Why hide it from her?" he asked.

"Truthfully? I do not know how she would react. If it turns out that I can control Wildfire, even if I cannot produce it, then it could trigger her paranoia. I would wield the one substance capable of incapacitating even her. In the event that she accepts it, truly accepts it, she may groom me to be her heir, and leave Ursa with nothing. It is the one thing my sister truly wants, what she needs, and I could not bear taking it away from her." At the last, Steffon remained silent, in quiet contemplation. "However, this is all speculation. When I uncover more, I will speak to you on it. As for Sho Yu's report?"

"Yes, what of the goings on at the Wall?"

"Nothing alarming," the prince said. "Viserys Targaryen and the brothers of the watch he took with him, on his ranging, have yet to return. The First Ranger, Benjen Stark, has assured Sho Yu, that it is not too strange an occurrence to have a ranging be overdue for several days. He did report having seen dark clouds forming to the far north, over the horizon. Similar to the one the Night's Watch had seen several years prior. Sho Yu asked the Lord Commander of it, and Mormont had responded that 'nothing much had come of that one, so it was nothing to worry about.' The majority of the watch did not appear to be overly concerned, only slightly fearful of Viserys and the rest of their brothers being caught in it."

"Well, someone built that monstrosity for a reason, even if nothing appears to be happening," he stated looking towards the prince, who wore the same garb as he had before, the uniform of the Grand Academy. This time, however, a small golden rose pin adorned the upper left side of his black and red vest.

"That is my mother's reasoning as well, along with some prodding by the red priestess."

He could not help but ask, "A new bauble?" He nodded his head towards the golden pin.

Steffon glanced down towards his chest, putting his left hand over it, thumbing it between his fingers. "A gift, or so my mother says, but I know what it means." The Fire Lord's eldest exhaled, breathing through his nose. "She knows," was all he stated, and Xai Bau knew to what it referred. To whom it referred.

The finality of the statement held no room for discussion, and he knew to drop the subject, in favor of a new one. But even as he thought so, he could not understand the boy. He knew Steffon. He knew that the boy loved his family, loved the Tyrell girl, or at least thought he did.

'Young love was a fickle thing,' he thought to himself.

Even after Steffon's deceit as a child, which led many to believe he was a bender, including the Fire Lord herself, he still cared, even for the Fire Lord. Steffon still loved her as any child would love their mother, even in her darkest moments of anger and frustration. The young prince still respected her decisions, even if he did not wholly agree with them. Her subtle threats, her continuous absence in his life, her constant disapproval, and yet, the boy still cared. When faced with such hardship, Xai Bau could not help by find himself respecting the Fire Lord's eldest, for he knew he would not have shown the same restraint.

'The boy was young, barely six, foolish, and he had not thought it through,' he recalled. After hearing of his 'abilities' at firebending, the Fire Lord had chosen to bring her eldest into her audience chamber.

'Which itself had been a pale imitation of those of her predecessors,' he remembered.

Steffon had been ordered to present his skill, and he had been fortunate that the Fire Lord had only allowed her husband and the very best benders to view the proceedings, numbering only twenty four, himself included. Lord Stannis stood beside the sitting form of the Fire Lord, both had been wearing stern and observant faces. He remembered his knees growing sore after kneeling for five hours, watching the boy struggle and fail to produce even the smallest amount of flame. The room had grown hotter and hotter, its temperature rising with the blue flames, as the time wore on. When the final moments of Steffon's display, drew to a close, the Fire Lord issued a low whisper, ordering all of them to leave. Only Lord Stannis, the Fire Lord, and young Steffon, who had fallen to his knees in exhaustion, had remained behind. Steffon never told him, and he never asked, what words had been exchanged between the three, only that it pained the boy to think of it. Ever since then, the boy sought to excel in everything he could. Xai Bau rarely spoke to Lord Stannis, but those few moments that he had found himself doing so, he saw pride swell up in the Lord of Dragonstone's eyes every single time someone uttered Steffon's name. However, during those moments when he spoke of Steffon, to the Fire Lord, he could only see disdain and betrayal.

"Have the investigations, into Commander Slynt's murder, yielded any results?" he asked, curious on if any evidence of his involvement had been uncovered, although he was confident there was none.

"No," Steffon stated. "You play a dangerous game, not informing my mother."

"I am not without teeth, my prince. The man, and his stooges threatened to close down the tea shop. Likely under Baelish's orders. The Fire Lord was out of contact, and I was not going to have her return to a tea shop, turned brothel, owned by Littlefinger. It's best that she does not know, and in the off chance that anything is found, I will accept responsibility. She need not sully her hands in it. Besides, it's not as if she wasn't going to have him killed later on."

"True enough. At any rate, Lord Stark does not seem to be too terribly concerned about the investigation. Especially not after my mother educated the Lord Hand on Slynt's more…illicit, activities. As it is, my parents are preparing to lead Lord Stark into another investigation."

"Is the Grand Maester still hounding your mother for the book?" he asked.

"Yes, but she will not part with it, lest someone grow fond of inks and quill. The Grand Maester stands on a double edged sword, and my mother knows this. He cannot inform Cersei, or Cersei will, without a doubt, force a confrontation regarding the contents of the book. The King is likely to support any arguments my mother puts forth."

"Having the smith and the little girl, safely tucked away on Dragonstone, will no doubt assist in such matters," he added.

"I should hope so, and even if the King does not support my mother's arguments, both she and Cersei are going to be answering some hard questions. If by some miracle, they both emerge unscathed, Pycelle is a dead man. Both of them will have him murdered for causing them such embarrassment."

"I do not envy his position," he stated bluntly.

Steffon snorted his response, "Neither do I."


	33. (Beyond the Wall) Viserys I

(Beyond the Wall: 9/28/298 AC) Viserys I

"Viserys! You bloody lunatic!" he heard Ser Waymar, shout out, through the snowy gale. "Where in the seven hells do you think you are going?! Gared and Will are in that direction!"

"Are you are tracker now, Royce!?" he replied, as the wind whipped his longish hair into his face, cutting into him like blades. The only form he could make out from the whiteness, was the heavily coated form of Ser Waymar, stumbling but two feet in front of him. _'Where in the blazes, did this storm come from?'_

"No, but I still retain my senses!" The wind howled, like an angry wolf, nearly muting Ser Waymar's angry voice. "It's too fucking cold, for this madness, Viserys! Damn you Gared! Wherever you are!" he saw the knight lift his fist in the air, shaking it in anger. "You hear me!? Damn you to the seven pits for indulging this," Royce turned back to point at him, "white haired fool!"

"I know what I saw, Royce! You loud mouth braggart!" The bitter wind threatened to freeze his tongue in place as he spoke. _'It was a child! I know it was a child!'_

"Nonsense! No blasted wildings have been…Ahhhh!" Viserys saw Waymar's black form fall forwards to the sound of shifting rocks and snow, before ending in a loud grunt.

"Waymar!" he shouted, dredging through the thick snow, as the winds grew stronger.

"Down here! Mind your step!" Waymar replied, sounding more like a lost child in the face of the beating wind. As he grew closer to the edge, he heard Waymar add, "Wait! Don't mind your step! Fall down here and mar your pretty face for getting me in this mess!"

' _Well he seems to be alright,'_ he thought, shielding his eyes from the blinding snow, as he inched forward until his toes began to dip down over a sharp edge. The way down was not as far he had thought, barely the height of nearly three standing men, from what he could tell. A gust of wind threw snow up the side of the small drop, blanketing his face in the miserable substance. Numbness began creeping into his face and he bundled up as much as he could. Breathing warm air into his gloves, a brief thought entered his mind as he looked at them, _'these are from Dragonstone.'_ The thought passed as quickly as it came, and he shouted down, "Can you find anything to grab on to?"

Ser Waymar felt around, never moving much out of his own limited sight. "Not a thing! The side is sheer!"

"Go further down!" He shouted, cupping his hand near his mouth. The crushing sound of snow came from beneath his feet, as he edged closer, pointing around the side of Ser Waymar. "There may be an opening, or ledge to grasp!"

"Or I could fall into a deeper pit!" Waymar shouted, looking up towards him. "No! Walk the edge, and find a way out. I will remain here, and shout for Will and Gared. Should they come this way, I will have Gared sound the horn to alert you!"

"Are you certain?" he asked, unused to leaving men behind. _'I do not like leaving men like this, but so be it. I know to follow the edge to find him again.'_

"Yes! No sense in both of us going deeper into the snow when we both know Will and Gared are back that way!" Waymar gestured back into the direction they had come.

"Have it your way!" he replied. "Keep calling out for Gared and Will! I will return!"

"Aye! And you best not leave me Viserys! You still owe me a sparring match!" Waymar shouted back through the whistling wind.

"Desperate to lose again?!" he couldn't help but retort, even though their dire situation called for discipline. _'Ah, the prince and princess fighting amongst themselves again?'_ he heard Ser Allister's voice reverberate in his mind.

"The longer you take to find me a way out, the faster you will lose our match when we get back! Now go!"

He hesitated for a bit, staring at his black brother, before he headed further down, following the edge of the pit. At his back, he heard Waymar begin calling out.

"Will?!" The first shout came strongly, and clearly. "Gared?!" came the second, the howling wind already having a muddled effect on Waymar's calls.

As he trekked through the thick snow, he also began shouting, while keeping an eye on his footing. "Will!?" He swept his feet ahead of him, to gauge the surface of the snow. Cupping his hands, he shouted, "Gared!?" _'Where had it all gone wrong? Where had the child come from? How long had it followed them?'_

These questions kept stirring in his mind, preventing him from focusing, which was dangerous in this weather. _'Never lose sight of the path. The snow can grow thick, in an instant, and you will lose your way,'_ he remembered the First Ranger warning them. _'I led them into this. We were just to do a simple ranging, like the one before. Quick, and easy,'_ he thought. Something struck his face, as he had been staring down into the pit, seeking an easier way out of it, for Waymar. The object was small, hard, and brittle, nearly crumbling in his glove as he moved to identify it. _'A leaf?'_ As if waiting for his thought, the five-pointed, blood-red leaf, turned to dust and was swept away by the frigid winds.

"Targaryen!" a sudden voice, high and sweet, with a musical tone, and a deep sadness, echoed out from within the wailing blizzard. He drew his sword, the surprise overtaking him.

He scanned what little he could from his pure white surroundings. The speaker had sounded, near him, yet afar. Peering over the edge of the shallow pit, he spied a small form, in the snow. The diminutive creature stared at him, large gold-green eyes standing out against the white. "You are late, Viserys Targaryen! Come!" It beckoned towards him, with its free hand, while the other held what appeared to be a small spear. The snowstorm seemed to die down around him, though he could see nothing but raging whiteness just a few paces beyond. The edge of the pit, below him, seemed to have melted away and revealed a small stony path he could traverse.

Mesmerized as he was, he nearly forgot. "My brothers!? They…"

"Are safe, within the cave," the small form stated.

His sword still drawn he slowly came down the path, growing closer to the child. The child had light brown skin, with pale deer spots, large ears, and messy gold-brown hair that reminded him of autumn. The eyes, he recognized as looking vaguely cat-like. The child held on to its weapon as tightly as he did his. "Are you the child I saw earlier?"

"Not a child, but men called us as such," the child seemed to grow sad. "You saw one of my sisters. She helped draw them away from you and yours."

"Them?" he asked, all the while thinking. _'A Child of the Forest? No! Impossible!'_

"Not here, Targaryen. They may find us," the child warned, gazing through her surroundings with what he assumed were keen eyes. "Come. The three-eyed crow wishes to speak with you. He will answer your questions."

The child scurried up another rocky path, the storm ceased for an instant, briefly revealing several large wierwood trees, before the snow reclaimed them. As he rounded the base of the wooded hill that held the ancient trees, he saw the child disappear behind a large root, several paces ahead. His approach found him faced with a cleft in a hillside, between some weirwood trees. The entrance to the small cave held several other children, who stood guard, watching him. They whispered to one another in a strange language, but his ear caught one word that was unmistakable, _'Dragon.'_

As the biting wind swept behind him, he stood there, still stubbornly unbelieving of the creatures that stood before him. Tales from ages long past. _'The Children of the Forest,'_ he found his lips word silently. He had been unable to tell which one had ushered him in here, they all wore the same leafy garb, bore the same messy hair. It was then, that the soft glow of torch light heralded the presence of another child that emerged from around a fork in the cave. This one bore a cloak of leaves, with withered flowers woven through its hair.

"Come," the cloaked child ordered, the small torch remained lit in seemingly frail hands.

"My brothers, where are they?" he asked again, unwilling to proceed without a definitive answer.

"They are near the crow. Away from the cold," it replied tersely.

He could feel the eyes gaining the measure of him, staring through him. The figure turned and set forth deeper into the cave. He trekked through the dark, surprisingly damp, passage, following the soft glow ahead. As he and his companion marched through the caves, he found twigs, and what appeared to be small bones, snapping underfoot. On more than one occasion, he had found himself nearly bumping his head against the thick roots that arced downwards from above him. The caves seemed to grow ever more cramped, with twisting, jutting, roots coursing through the walls of the caves. Within the darkness, he saw glowing, slitted eyes, watching him. "What is this place?" he blurted, staring at the winding passages.

"Forgotten," the figure said. "Forgotten by those who should remember, and remembered by those who should have forgotten."

His hunger to know more grew. "But…"

"No more, questions, Targaryen!" the child admonished him, the lyrical tone of its voice growing heavier, as she turned with torch in hand. "The secrets of this place are not for you. You are here to receive a message, and deliver it to the one whom it belongs. Nothing more. You do not possess the gift that he requires." With that, the child spun on her heels and pressed forward.

He frowned, he had so many questions, but the child would not answer. ' _I hope this 'three-eyed crow' has enough strength to speak the words of a thousand men because no less will satiate my curiosity.'_

They walked, silently, for what seemed like hours, until they reached a large echoing cavern. A black chasm greeted them, with the soft light of the torch utterly unable to illuminate more than arms breadth of space around them. Far below, he could hear the sounds of rushing water, resonating down there, in the dark. Stretching across the black abyss was a small, natural bridge, which the child had begun walking towards. He followed its slight form, until it stopped at the end of the bridge, holding up the torch for him to take.

"Go," it said. "He is waiting."

A part of him questioned the insanity of all this. _'Perhaps I am out in the snow, dying to the cold, and this was all some elaborate death dream?'_ Even as the thoughts crossed his mind, he found his feet moving of their own volition, and before he knew it, he was halfway across the narrow bridge. The torch in his hand failed to illuminate either end of the narrow bridge, and for a brief moment, he considered turning back before a voice called out to him from further ahead. "Come! Viserys Targaryen! Come realize your part in a destiny you had not been chosen for," it repeated mysteriously throughout the large cavern.

The doubt in his heart vanished, and he continued forward. The torch flickered at his side, caused by some unknown source of wind. As he neared the opposite end of the bridge, three forms began to emerge from the darkness, slowly being illuminated by his low burning torch. A wall of numerous, gnarled roots lay off to the side, rising up, into blackness. His three brothers of the watch; Will, Gared, and Waymar's, prone bodies rested atop a small bed of roots. Their bodies still rose and fell, holding steady breaths. He rushed to his brothers' sides, checking their conditions, and attempting to wake them.

"They have been given a sleeping draught," a voice called out from the direction of the contorted roots he had seen earlier. "They will wake in several hours," it continued.

After it spoke a second time, he identified the source. At first, appearing as a twisted mass of roots, the voice had made a man melt into the fore, emerging from the tangled mess. He could not help but reach for his sword, his grip on the torch tightening ever so slightly.

"There is no need for that Viserys Targaryen," the tree-man spoke. "Leaf told you that you were here to receive a message, did she not?"

"She did," he answered, looking back towards his brothers, before stepping forward. He brought the light to bear, illuminating the man within the roots _. 'His face seems familiar,'_ he thought, trying to remember back to his youth. "Was she?"

"A child of the forest?" the tree-man answered instantly. "Yes, yes she is."

The confirmation nearly made him accept that he was going mad, but only just. "Who are you?"

"A former crow, once Lord Commander," the tree-man responded.

Then it hit him, a spark in his mind. In an instant, he recalled all the times he would read with Ser Willem.

'" _How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have?"'_ Ser Willem would ask.

'" _A thousand eyes, and one,"_ he heard his young voice call out.

He felt a slight smile creep into his mouth before he heard her. _'Destroy it!'_ the woman's words flashed, the image of a burning ship threatened to smother his thoughts. Shutting his memories aside, he continued, "Brynden Rivers? The Bloodraven!?" He exclaimed. "But how? You would be…"

"Old. Very old," the former Lord Commander stated, hands resting on the roots tangled around his chest. "I need no reminder of my age. It is something I am keenly aware of."

His mind became a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. _'Children of the Forest? An extremely aged, tree-bound, Bloodraven? What next? Giants? Others!?'_ He took a slow breath, to calm his nerves. "Why did you bring me here? Were you responsible for the sudden storm?"

"No, dear boy," the Bloodraven's face grew stern in the shadows. "Others are responsible for the storm. I sent for you before they found you out."

"Who?" He asked, unwilling to accept the alternative meaning of 'Others.'

" _Others_ ," he warned. "You were fortunate, that the Ironborn landed to the west when they did. It distracted them, long enough for your first ranging to go unmolested. But alas, you had been too far the first time, and my reaction had been too slow."

He knew the doubt on his face would show, even in the gloom, and he did not care.

"After seeing everything you have, you still doubt?" the Bloodraven chided. "And I know you have seen far more than just the children. You have seen the woman, you have seen the power she and her people posess?"

' _You saw nothing,'_ he remembered how her golden eyes had focused on him, threatened him, as the storm raged around them. Lightning had left her fingertips, and he was too young and too scared to do anything, but pay heed to her warning. Her voice had sounded like velvet, yet it had rung like steel. After years of living on the Wall, he had eventually come to believe that it had been only his childish imagination. That the flashing lightning, and the dark skies that had hovered above them, had tricked his eyes into seeing what he had thought he had seen all those years ago. But now? The Bloodraven spoke to him of it, as if it had been no secret, bringing it out into the light, and suddenly it did not seem so fanciful.

"I have," he answered.

"Hmmm," Bloodraven replied. "You must go to where she resides. Dragonstone or King's Landing, it matters not. Warn her. Tell her that her people should not be entering that place where the gods roam. Already, their meddling has alerted the Great Other. It is learning from them, moving in ways I can no longer accurately predict. You _must_ tell her."

"What reason would she have to believe me?" he questioned, knowing going to her spouting insanity would get him thrown in a cell and sent back to the Wall, or worse.

"Tell her, that it wants her youngest," Bloodraven stated. "For what? I am uncertain, but tell her that it has made the attempt to acquire her, more than once. She will know of what you speak, for she has told no one but those closest to her power. And if you find yourself unable to convince her, convince her son. He will listen if all else fails."

He remained silent for a moment, taking in what the Bloodraven had just said. His mind began to conjure up many questions, bringing them up to his lips.

"You have many questions, Viserys Targaryen, this I can see. But those answers were not meant for you."

"But why? I need answers," he pleaded.

"Take solace, in the fact, that your future is no longer as grim as it should have been. The fate of your sister, however, remains in question," the roots seemed to shiver around the elderly Bloodraven, as he spoke.

"Sister?" he replied. _'My mother had never given birth to another child. She had been with child, but the last I had heard of her, she had disappeared somewhere in Essos.'_

"Yes. At one time she would have been named Daenerys Targaryen, but now…" Bloodraven closed his eyes, "now she remains a victim of circumstance. Proof of the gods, and their cruel jokes."

"Where is she?" he asked, unsure of whether he had truly wished to know.

"Across the sea, in the clutches of a distasteful man. Hunted by Fire Lord, Ironborn, Mummers, and Serpents alike."

' _Was it a trick?'_ he thought. _'What purpose would it have served?'_

"Rest assured that you may see her again," the Bloodraven locked eyes with him. " _If_ the warning is taken, and accepted. Particularly by the Fire Lord's son, and his Iron compatriot."

He understood, _'Tell the woman of the others, and her son of his sister.'_ He knew Steffon Baratheon had a recently acquired reputation for bravery and chivalry. _'So perhaps that would be enough?'_

"Take that," Bloodraven glanced down, towards the tangled mass of roots and dried bones at his feet. In the clutter, he saw a small spear with a black spear tip. As he brought the torch closer, he saw the tip reflect the light like glass. _'Dragonglass,'_ he thought, remembering the Isle of Dragonstone being rich in the material. He lifted the weapon, which felt light in his hands. "If you encounter Others, on your trip back to the Wall, use it. It will hurt them. It will kill them."

He looked towards the tree-bound man, and then to his brothers, who still lay quietly to the side.

"When they awaken, the will have questions. Do not sound like a madman when you answer them," Bloodraven stared at him. "The children will help mask your exit. Do not seek this place out, and purge it from your memory forever."

He felt a pinch at the back of his neck, and the world faded into darkness.

"We are not going to die here, brat!" he heard a voice say, muffled by the pouring rain. He felt strong hands grasp him, shaking him.

"No! You can't!" he heard his young voice call out, struggling to free itself.

"That's it! That's the one!" he heard the traitor say, pointing to Ser Willem's ship. The small vessel rocked and shifted in the tumultuous waves, over the gusting wind and beating rain.

"Destroy it!" he heard her command, clutching her stomach in pain.

"We can't. The wind. The waves," someone said.

"Fine!" she shouted. She moved with grace, as blue energy began surrounding her pregnant form. Then, the lightning erupted from her fingers and engulfed the small ship.

"Ser Willem!" he felt the hands shake him.

"Viserys! Wake up princess," He heard Gared's old voice bellow in the haze.

"Urgh," he replied, reaching for his throbbing head. His surroundings indicated them to be in a small worn tent, which smelled heavily of bear dung. Sturdy, but old.

"What in the seven hells happened?" Will asked, looking towards Gared. "First we were tracking some lost wildling child, and then we woke up here."

"Viserys and I lost you both in the storm," Waymar replied. "Viserys set off to find me a way out of the pit I had fallen into, and then we," Waymar gesture to both he and himself, "woke up here."

"Viserys? What have you to say? Did you see anything?"

The question hung in the air, "No, nothing. I found a way down into the pit, but slipped. Must have bumped my head, for I woke up here as well."

"Well, whatever the case," Gared began, "there is a sled with food, and thick cloaks, waiting just outside this stinking tent." Gared stuck his head out of their small, smelly, shelter, "The weather seems to have cleared, somewhat, so we best get a move on back to the wall."

"Aye," they all replied, gathering their things.

Viserys felt something sharp, beneath his cloak. He felt around, and grasped his hands around a small spear shaft, tipped with a dragonglass head. Waymar whistled, "What else do you hide in that bloody cloak?"


	34. (Winterfell) Ursa III

(Winterfell: 10/1/298 AC) Ursa III

A pleasant breeze blew through the small window of their quarters, signaling a crisp, and cool, day. _'A perfect morning for training, but then again, every morning was the perfect morning for training,'_ Ursa thought. She had awoken to Brienne and Jun readying themselves. Brienne had nearly been completely armored, with assistance from Jun, who grunted as she fastened the last pieces of Brienne's armor. Ursa noticed both hers and Jun's armor placed side by side on Brienne's bed, with their boots resting on the floor, just beneath their respective armors. _'Brienne must have awakened far earlier, than Jun or herself, to have been able to retrieve them from the armory.'_

"Ugh!" Jun strained, her small arms struggling with the rough leather strap, underneath Brienne's left pauldron. "Why haven't you taken a squire Brienne? Helping you with this is what they are for."

"I do not enjoy the company of others. Present company excluded, of course," Brienne nodded to her, before looking back to Jun, who was still struggling with the strap. "Besides, that's what I keep _you_ around for." Brienne cast as smug a look, as she could, towards their lithe little friend.

Jun narrowed her eyes, as she finished fastening the errant strap. A mischievous smile crept onto her lips, "Really? I do not recall you thinking as such when Lord Renly visited Dragonstone on his sixteenth birthday."

She saw Brienne turn crimson red, her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Ursa lifted her loose hair and tied it into a firm, tight, bun. She allowed some strands of hair to remain free, just so she could feel the wind rush through it when they went for their morning run.

Jun lifted her hand to her head as if she was feeling faint, "Oh Lord Renly! Come save me from this vile little girl named Jun!"

Brienne suddenly rose to her feet, her face unreadable, before she mimicked Jun's faint expression, "Oh! Jon Snow! Come save me from my horrendously smelling bowels!"

This time it was Jun's face that turned red.

"I will never forget that moment. When all future verbal exchanges with you would forever see me emerge the victor," Brienne smiled.

"You do not fight with honor, you cow," Jun muttered, crossing her arms.

"Oh I do fight with honor, but only with those who show me honor in turn. If you fight dishonorably, I will not hesitate to respond in kind. Remember Commander Lee's teachings? 'Honor is a virtue that only serves you well if your opponent holds to the same principles. If he does not…'"

"'Then you must achieve victory at any cost, for he will surely seek to do the same,'" Ursa finished the sentence, slipping her leather, sleeveless robe, over her red underclothes. Her hooked, gold-trimmed, light boots remained straight and upright, like soldiers standing at attention, as she strode to retrieve them.

"Hmph," Jun replied, eyeing them both, before breaking into a sheepish smile. "Well, I suppose I walked into that one. That's the last time I trust my own 'edible' concoctions." Jun began moving to place the rest of her own armor on. Her second Flameguard protector had since moved away from the plate armor, she and Brienne, had worn when they had first arrived. Ursa knew the plate armor to be far too heavy for Jun's small frame. Which was why Jun had been allowed to bring her own because the Lord and Fire Lord of Dragonstone preferred function over form.

Jun's preferred armor had been a gift from Xai Bau, the Grandmaster of the Order of the Burning Tree, and her father. It was a dark red set of boiled leather armor, paired with a deep black cloak that was fastened to her shoulder pads with two white lotus flowers, cast in steel, and enameled white. A golden coin, engraved with the image of a burning tree, was placed at the center of each white lotus flower. Jun's armor was lighter than the standard armor given to the benders of Dragonstone, her own included, but its light weight allowed Jun far more freedom in utilizing her superior speed, which complimented Jun's moderate bending skills. Jun's flames had little power behind them, but she had mastered the art of 'quick-bending,' a term she apparently coined herself, which allowed Jun to fire off quick blasts of flame while remaining in constant motion. Jun's 'talent' was virtually useless against another moderately skilled bender, who could easily swat her flames away, but even so, Ursa often found herself having difficulty in pinning Jun down. Time and again, she would need to resort to a wall of fire, 'brute force,' Jun would say, to corner Xai Bau's daughter and force a submission.

 _'However, against a non-bender?'_ Ursa often found herself pondering. _'A person whom would have no defense against it? Jun was likely to be the smallest nightmare to walk on two feet.'_

As Brienne moved to the window, she looked the part of a respectable knight clad in a polished black cuirass, with matching tassets, greaves and vambraces. Two five-lame pauldrons with sword breakers, protected her shoulders and upper arms, while an armored collar protected her neck. All the pieces had been trimmed in gold. On Brienne's back, rested a pristine black cloak with the sigil of house Tarth, yellow suns on rose quartered with white crescents on azure, placed over the Fire Nation flame, meeting near the base of her neck and serving as a metal clasp. The most recognizable piece of Flameguard attire, the helmet and skull faceplate with the flame-like crest, sat atop Brienne's oak night table.

A knock sounded at the entrance of their room, and they all stood on their guard before Jon Snow's voice was heard behind the sturdy wooden door.

"My Ladies Ursa and Jun? Ser Brienne?" Jon remained silent a moment, behind the door. Jun tripped over herself to answer it, nearly knocking over her half-finished bottle of Huangjiu.

 _'Contraband,'_ Ursa thought. _'It is far too strong a drink, and it looks like piss, but Jun claims it helps her 'relax.' So she can better meditate. Lies.'_

The small woman patted down her tussled hair and peeked out. "Well, hello," Jun uttered sensually.

Jun's body blocked the slightly opened door, and Ursa heard Jon clear his throat. "When you find yourselves ready, we will be waiting in the Great Hall to break our fast." Ursa began moving towards the door.

Jun arched forward, her head passing through the open door. Ursa heard a kiss landing upon a cheek. "It will take us, but a moment, my love."

Before Jun could shut the door, Ursa shot her hand out and held it open. "We?" she asked, opening the door halfway to look upon Jon.

"Yes," she heard a voice sound off to the side. She poked her head out of the door and saw Robb, standing in his armor, holding a gentle smile.

 _'Oh, wonderful,_ ' she thought, a frown nearly lining her lips. She looked at him, holding out her hand, and smiled an empty smile. "What an unexpected surprise!" she exclaimed, far too loudly. Robb had taken her hand and planted a soft kiss on the back of her palm. Ursa's cheeks grew hot, "Eager to face the training of Dragonstone?" She blurted out. "I should warn you, it is not for the faint of heart."

"I am looking forward to it, my lady, but only for a moment," Robb replied, looking into her fiery golden eyes. She froze, and could do nothing, but gaze back into his brilliantly blue ones. She felt a small elbow jab into her side and heard Brienne snicker. Jun seemed to be struggling in holding a straight face, while Robb smiled. Only then, did it dawn on her that she may have stared too long? "As acting Lord of Winterfell, I have other duties to attend to."

"Of course," she replied, nodding her head slightly, while still holding the false smile. _'Duty,'_ she understood. "And Arya?"

"My mother summoned her to her chambers. I am unsure if she will be joining us, but Jon has told me she rarely misses the morning training now that my mother knows about you two. So she may surprise us with her presence," she saw Robb and Jon smile, likely thinking on how Arya had a habit of appearing randomly. "Well, I do not wish to keep you any further, my lady." He nodded. "We will be awaiting you all in the Great Hall." As Robb walked off, Jon lingered, his gaze focused just to the side of her, smiling.

Poking her head out, from behind her, was Jun, holding a sparkling smile on her face, and waving furiously. She felt her own eyes narrow and shut the door in response.

They stood there silently, hearing the men's footsteps recede. When they heard them no more Jun blew a raspberry, and spoke, holding out her hands in confusion, "What in the spirit world was that?!"

"Shut up, Jun," she warned, moving to retrieve her boots from the floor.

"Five minutes! Five minutes you just stood there and _stared_ at him!"

 _'Five minutes?! Impossible!'_ she thought. _'It had only been an instant!'_ When she looked to Brienne, a solemn nod was all she gave. _'Damn! I ruined it.'_ A memory flashed into her mind, seemingly as a response to this debacle.

"Idleness provides only weakness. Activity provides strength. There is always room for improvement, and advancement," she remembered Instructor Chang's words. A man she had found to have been an acceptable teacher. Until she cast him aside. _'It had been necessary, to prove worthy of her place as the next Fire Lord, and to account for Steffon's failure.'_

Ursa sat on her bed, in silence, placing her boots to the side, as she slid her feet into a new pair of cloth foot coverings. She looked towards her two companions. "Do you think he sees me as being foolish?"

"Of course not," Brienne replied, securing her helmet, and double checking her armor as she did so.

"A little creepy maybe, but not foolish," Jun added. "Staring at people like that is not exactly acceptable unless you two were…" her little friend cleared her throat, " _together_."

"But we are! Or am I trying to be!" she exclaimed. "I embarrassed myself in front of him! And after all the work I put into maintaining a pleasant conversation with him in the Godswood! Mother will not be pleased," she angrily stuffed her foot into her boot.

Brienne inhaled, looking towards Jun. "I do not think that is what Jun meant with ' _together_.'"

"Huh?" she asked, looking to the smallest of her group, not counting Arya. "What did you mean?"

"Well," Jun chuckled nervously, tugging at her leather neck guard. "You know, ' _together_ '," she emphasized.

"I don't understand," she replied, the confusion evident in her eyes.

"Are you kidding me, Ursa? Do you know how children are born?" Jun asked in exasperation.

"Yes! The mother to be pushes the child out, and a midwife helps in the delivery! Do not speak to me like I'm some uneducated child!" She rose to her feet, glaring at Jun.

"She used the wrong words," Brienne stated, snapping the skull faceplate into place beneath the frame of her helmet. "Ursa, do you know how children are made?"

"Of course I do! They…Ohhh…" she looked to Jun and Brienne, "Ohhhhh….." Her cheeks felt far hotter than they had felt when Robb had kissed her hand. A thought sprang forward, "Wait! How do you know this?" her focus returned to Jun. "You are only a year older than I am!"

Jun shrugged her shoulders, "I read a lot. I talk to people."

"But?" she began, absent-mindedly reaching for her armor.

"Ever wonder why those girls in the upper classes would stare at Theon and Kai like they did?"

She shook her head, morbidly fascinated by the discussion, still trying to grab on to her armor, before a firm hand stopped her. Turning, she saw Brienne lift her armor, over her head, with the intention of helping place it on her. Ursa relaxed her arms and spread them outwards to give Brienne room to affix the armor on her.

"Well, I spoke to them. You wouldn't believe what stories they had. Your brother's friends are very active," Jun said, placing both of her hands behind her waist, and arching backward to pop her back.

"I'd rather not know," she replied, briefly wondering if her brother had been a recipient of those glances. Try as she might, Ursa could not recall. Her body jerked back a bit, as Brienne secured the armor together. When Brienne was finished, Ursa stretched and twisted her body to get comfortable with the armor. She stopped and marched forward to her small ornamented cabinet. Centered on the Fire Nation furniture piece was her golden flame headpiece, which identified her as Fire Nation royalty. It was displayed as one would a holy relic, and the moment her hands touched it, she felt at ease. She held it in her hands, removing the golden pin from its center, and lifted it up, above her head. As it came down, she slid it over her hair bun and replaced the golden pin, that secured her 'crown' onto her hair. When she turned back to face Jun and Brienne, she saw them standing stiffly and at attention.

"Let's move," she ordered.

"As you command," they replied in unison, bowing their heads, and issuing their own salutes. Jun placed her fist beneath her open palm, while Brienne slapped her right fist against her chest.

Together they exited the room, with Jun taking point. Brienne held back, shutting and locking the door to their quarters. They marched down the cold, sparsely lit, hall, and passed several servants and Stark household guards on their way out of the guest house. Jun swung the doors open, and moved forwards, glancing both ways, surveying the grounds, with the discipline only the Academy could instill. She and Brienne exited afterward, bringing them out near the courtyard. The sun was beginning to slowly rise out from behind the horizon, and the few eyes that had been awake and present nearby were focused on her and her Flameguard, as they passed through, on their way to the Great Hall to break their fast.

In silence, they passed through the gate separating the Courtyard and Great Hall areas. She could not help but smirk as she heard several, light, hurried, footfalls following closely behind them, accompanied by the soft padding of a large animal.

Jun remained in front, her body tense and attentive, eyes watching everything.

It did not take long before she felt two forms close up around her. A large gray wolf on her left, and a small stern-faced one to her right. "Arya?" she asked, glancing towards the little Stark girl, who seemed excited. One look at her attire revealed why. Arya had been clad in a similar uniform to her own, only far smaller and bearing the Stark colors; dark gray leather armor, shoulder pads, neck guard, and boots, trimmed in light gray, over black underclothes. Her hair was in a bun, with silver paws wrapped around the base, and a polished silver head of a direwolf resting on top, pointed to the sky, howling its silent howl.

"Apologies, Ursa. My mother wished to gift me something before I set out for our training," Arya broke and smiled, looking to her.

Ursa cocked an eyebrow and felt her lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.


	35. (Dragonstone) Margaery III

(Dragonstone: 10/2/298 AC) Margaery III

The sound of twenty pairs of feet, her own included, rose and fell in unison. The thundering sound reverberated within her bones, as the platoon drew in shallow, quick, breaths during their morning run. The cool ocean breeze swept over them, bringing some relief, during their laps around the walls lining the Academy grounds. The sun had begun to rise, casting long shadows across the green field surrounding the path. Her hair was damp with sweat, and dirt coated her face. Several droplets slid down her neck and arms, tickling her as they did, giving her goosebumps, and causing a slight shiver. Lieutenant Chi-Ha led the senior group, clad in the same training uniforms as they were, running stiffly and with nary a bead of sweat marring the scarred features of her exposed back.

"I hear troubled breath within the ranks! Do you grow weary!?" the Lieutenant shouted.

"Ma'am! No ma'am!" they replied, between labored gasps. Their group rounded the west side wall of the Academy, passing the guard tower, and nearing the western wall of the recess field. A wooden archway lined with the banners of the Burning Stag indicated the western entrance to the recess field and the rest of the Academy. A stone path led down from the western gate to the castle of Dragonstone.

"Do you require rest?! A warm bed to ease your pain!?"

"Ma'am! No ma'am!" they answered, passing by the wooden archway and the fluttering banners of the Burning Stag. Within the concrete courtyard of the Academy, Margaery caught sight of the other classes forming up to begin their day of school, standing at attention beneath the twin shadows cast by the large bronze statues of the Lord and Fire Lord of Dragonstone.

The Fire Lord's bronze form stood, facing east, right arm stretched skyward with flame in hand, while the other wielded a sword bearing the likeness of 'Scarred Brother.' Its point faced downward to the dark stone platform on which both statues stood. The Fire Lord's gaze focused upon the forever burning flame within its extended hand, while Lord Stannis' statue was rigid, broad-shouldered, and stern. Like the Fire Lord's own, his statue wielded the large bronze replica of his Valyrian sword, 'Nameless,' as it pointed towards the sky, straight and true. The statue stared forward casting its withering gaze upon those who entered from the west, judging those who entered just as it judged the setting sun. _'Of all the interactions Steffon and Ursa had had within the Academy before their paths diverged,'_ Margaery remembered, _'sitting side by side before those statues had been the only place where both could be seen at peace with one another.'_ She had spied them once _,_ in silent contemplation, during the early mornings before classes had begun.

"Good! Pain is in your mind!" Chi-Ha replied, with even breath. "Since we are being talkative! Recite the oath, cadets!"

Margaery felt them all breathe in as one. "My life I give to my country! With my hands, I fight for Fire Lord Azula, Lord Stannis, King Robert, and our forefathers before them! With my mind, I seek ways to better my country! And with my feet may our March of Civilization continue!"

"Beautifully said, cadets! You should all be singers! Almost made me cry!"

 _'Pfft,'_ she thought, as their group rounded to the northern wall of the courtyard. Several Flameguard stood watch, while several more escorted Overseer Mai, Instructor Chang, and the Red Priestess Cyvia down the stone path to the nearby Administration grounds.

As they passed by the northern entrance of the recess field, Margaery chanced another look, searching for little Ty Lee. Unfortunately, she caught a glimpse of Takkar strutting around the grounds with his thugs.

"Ugh, that preening little shit," she heard Kai whisper to her side. Evidently, he had been curious too.

"Cut the chatter, cadet!" Chi-Ha chastised, somehow overhearing their hushed words.

Margaery could not help but agree with Kai's unflattering words. _'Takkar thought himself better than them all, yet he hid it under the insidious guise of politeness, and generosity.'_ Chang's son had first taken advantage of Ursa's absence, three years ago, to assert his position as the new leader of Ursa's former followers. Then, once the heir of Dragonstone had begun his tour of the Stormlands, Takkar had wasted no time in claiming portions of Steffon's own followers. Steffon, accompanied by Theon, had returned several months ago to speak with the Fire Lord before she had set sail for King's Landing. Once his business with the Fire Lord had concluded, he had gathered the four of them together, past midday, to come down to the cave and celebrate his birthday, before departing yet again for the Stormlands.

* * *

Dragonstone (12/30/297 AC: Dance Cave)

"Why are you allowing this travesty, Steffon? Return to the Academy, and put that fool in his place!" Kai questioned, slamming his fist into his palm. Several seagulls squawked in the distance, mixing with the soothing sound of the beating waves.

"Takkar is not my concern. The title of Fire Lord grants one leadership and jurisdiction over the citizens of the Fire Nation. A group of which Takkar can count himself amongst, I might add. That title is not mine to claim nor are the responsibilities associated with it mine to enforce unless my mother has given me permission to do so in her stead. And once the Fire Lord passes, that mantle of responsibility will fall upon Ursa. Not me. However, in the here and now, after we depart those duties will fall upon Overseer Mai. Therefore, she will be the only one who has the right to reprimand Takkar, in my mother's absence," Steffon replied calmly, as he sat on his stone seat, and sipped at his tea. "Besides," he smiled, "I don't want to embarrass him. All of his work at undermining Ursa, and I, within the Academy has not gone unnoticed. Not by me, not by my mother. If we so cared to, he could suddenly find all of his work turned into shame and foolishness."

 _'Not to mention what would happen if Ursa returned to Dragonstone prematurely,'_ Margaery thought, she held no doubt on who would be raked over the coals upon Ursa's return.

"Braaahgt!" All within snapped their attentions towards Theon, who sat by the large table lined with meats, cheeses, and various fruits. He held a cup, of what was decidedly not tea, firmly in his grasp. "Pardon me," he pounded his chest, then reached for another piece of goat cheese. "If Steffon says there is nothing to concern ourselves about with that woman-footed pissant, then I believe him. Especially if the Fire Lord is also aware of Takkar and his little games. Fire Lord Azula has fought and defeated far more dangerous enemies, and even now she heads into King's Landing to do gods know what. Hopefully, she'll have King Robert cleanse the court of all those perfumed ass-kissing shits."

"And perhaps fix the drains and cisterns," Steffon added. "We still reek of shit from our time there when we were knighted."

"No Steffon, I think that's just Greyjoy. He left Dragonstone smelling like shit."

"Ha. Ha. Aren't you a funny one?" Theon replied to Kai's, not wholly untrue, jest.

"Are you not worried the Fire Lord will be too distracted by King's Landing to pay the Academy mind?" she stated, rubbing her hands together. The ocean breeze had grown much cooler with the nearby storm.

Steffon rose, and walked towards her, unlatching his cloak. "No. We are not worried," he swung the thick cloth around her, securing it to her shoulders.

She looked at him as he fiddled with the cloak, and felt herself shiver. "Thank you," she nodded.

"You are welcome," Steffon smiled before he continued his previous line of thought. "The Fire Lord trusts the Lady Mai above all others, and I will admit that she is certainly worthy of the trust my mother affords her. This would only be cause for worry if the Fire Lord were to perish, and I find that unlikely. My father's assessment of my mother's impending presence within King's Landing was astute."

"Which was?" she asked, snuggling up underneath Steffon's borrowed cloak.

"He likened her to an Essosi fang-rat sneaking into a sleeping viper's nest," Steffon replied, stalking the table near Theon to pick at a loose cut of braised beef.

"Ha! Now that is entirely accurate!" Theon laughed, having procured a small knife to cut slices out of an apple he had snatched from the table.

"What?" she asked, slowly nearing the banquet table they all seemed to be gravitating towards. "I do not follow."

"An Essosi fang-rat is no bigger than an alley cat. It is not an intimidating creature, but it has the habit of killing all forms of serpents it encounters. It does not do this to eat them. Most of the time," Kai shrugged. "It just does it because it can."

"Perhaps not that accurate," Theon amended his previous statement. "The Fire Lord is most assuredly intimidating. Seven-hells so is her heir for that matter. Like it or not, Ursa will be the next Fire Lord, and I just hope being in the north has not caused her to lose her…edge."

"I do not think we have to worry about that. Even before she was sent north, when she was only nine, the Academy and all the students therein feared her," Kai stated.

 _'Except for two,'_ the thought flashed in Margaery's head.

"Regardless, we have to do something Steffon," she pleaded, her words echoing within the cave. "We can't just let Takkar do what he wants. What about Ty Lee?"

"Ha! Takkar may be ambitious, but he's not stupid. If my sister so much as catches a fever from him, mother will have him drawn and quartered that same day."

"And what of the rest of our friends?" she asked.

"She is right, Steffon. Look around you." Kai added. "Stone seats which once held our closest friends, now lie empty and cold. Why does the Fire Lord allow the future of her Fire Nation to be slaved to that pompous twit?" Kai began to pace around the cave, clenching his fist and causing the flames of their torch stands to rise in anger.

"Do not worry," Steffon stated, reinforcing his earlier declaration. "I appreciate your loyalty. Truly, I do. I know all of you only wish to see me safe, and secure, and to have all of our friends close," Steffon glanced towards Theon. "Well, him, not so much."

Theon, who had been busy chewing a bit of apple, smiled and waved his hand in acknowledgment. "It's true. He owes me coin. I want him dead."

"I do not owe you coin, Greyjoy," Steffon replied, looking back towards them all. "But my mother has bidden nothing be done, or at the very least, not by us. If she has plans, they are for her alone to implement. I will not interfere, nor will I question them. It is not my place. Nor is it yours."

The flames flickered in anger, "Urgh!" Kai grunted in frustration. He stalked towards the mouth of the cave and set his gaze out, looking towards the horizon. The crashing waves provided a break from the awkward silence. After several moments, she saw Kai's shoulders drop, and heard a deep intake of breath. The intensity of the flames lowered, signaling his calmed state. Kai turned to them, "Apologies," he stated simply.

"No apologies necessary, old friend," Steffon walked up towards Kai, and both clasped their hands around each other's forearms. They patted each other shoulders for a moment before Kai broke into a smile.

"Fine then! Let's eat, and put aside this worrisome nonsense," Kai proclaimed, as he rubbed his hands, eager to get at the banquet before them.

* * *

(Dragonstone: 10/2/298 AC) Margaery III

Even after the cave, she and Kai had still at least attempted to maintain the loyalty of the others. Out of sheer stubbornness and devotion, if nothing else, to Steffon. They had even gone so far as to be inducted into the Academy's Officer training program, in an effort to stem their friend's hemorrhaging of allies. However, as time wore on, they both began to notice more and more of their own slipping through their fingers. Those she would have once called their closest friends had abandoned them, for little reason other than because Steffon had been absent.

She felt eyes on her and looked to her left, spying Overseer Mai and her small entourage looking over the passing group. For the briefest of instants, she locked eyes with the Overseer, her friend, and her thoughts calmed. For what reason, she knew not, only that she had been calmed. _'Instructor Chang looks displeased,'_ she smiled, seeing the retreating form of Takkar's father.

"Cadets have you had enough!?"

"Ma'am! No ma'am!" she replied with the rest, even though she knew most of their legs were ready to give out underneath them.

"Are you certain? My legs grow sore!" The Lieutenant stated.

"Ma'am! Yes ma'am!" they replied, knowing it was a trick meant to push them harder.

They circled around and came upon the eastern wall of the recess field. Chi-Ha lead them along the path entering into the recess field, a path Margaery traveled out of every moon. _'I will visit you again, my friend.'_

"Such a beautiful day, cadets! I say four more laps around the Academy!"

They all groaned.

"What's that cadets!? Excitement?! Eight more laps it is!" the Lieutenant ordered joyously.

 _'Kill me,'_ she thought, looking over to Kai who had the same expression she did.

After nearly an hour-and-a-half of running, her legs screaming in pain all the way did Lieutenant Chi-Ha finally bring them into the now empty recess field and relent their endurance training.

"Platoon! Halt!" her scarred instructor commanded.

She and the rest of her fellow cadets, stood stiffly, facing forward as the lieutenant strode towards the entrance to the academy.

"Left face!"

Margaery turned in unison with the others. The soft scraping sound of light boots slid along the concrete and broke the silence in the recess field. A burning sensation coursed up and down the length of her legs as she stood straight with her hands at her sides. The lieutenant closed into the left of the formation, and went down the line, pausing every so often to inspect a cadet or two.

"You!" the instructor shouted to a student behind Margaery's sight. "How is your arm?!"

"Ma'am! My arm is well, ma'am!" she heard Haruto's voice respond. The large bully with sullen eyes had chosen to repeatedly terrorize the diminutive daughter of Xai Bau years ago. Until one day he had the ill fortune of doing so one too many times. No one knew what had transpired that recess period, only that Jun, Brienne, and Princess Ursa, who had never been seen together before had inexplicably become close friends. Haruto, on the other hand, had come to class the next day with a broken arm. Never again had he tormented the small girl.

"Good! The Fire Lord's army does not allow weakness to permeate its ranks!" The lieutenant continued on down the line. "Hmm," she came upon Kai, looking him up and down. "You are strong. But can you lead? Would you consider yourself a worthy addition to the Fire Nation army? Does such a possibility interest you?"

She saw Kai puff up his chest in pride. "Ma'am! Yes, ma'am! It would be my honor to serve our nation as both soldier, and commander, if the Fire Lord so wills it! If the Fire Lord does not, then it has been an honor to serve as a student within her Academy!"

"Praise be to her," Lieutenant Chi-Ha stated, as she stood there, silently analyzing Margaery's childhood friend. "Spoken true, and from the heart. Nearly word for word from the text." The woman raised a brow, "Do you enjoy Instructor Tima's readings? Do you relish every opportunity to learn about our history?"

"Ma'am! Yes, ma'am! Learning from our past helps us to anticipate our future! Allowing us to usher in a new age of prosperity for the Fire Nation, and for Westeros," Kai replied, his back stiff and eyes straight.

"Indeed it does, cadet," her instructor stated. Chi-Ha's words lingered in the air for several moments, before she continued on to her.

"And you," Chi-Ha peered into her eyes, "outsider?" Almond-shaped dull gold met their round brown counterparts. "Do you share your fellow cadet's conviction?"

"Ma'am! Yes, ma'am!" she responded, "Always!" Margaery heard the soft cry of a woman deep within her mind. _'A memory from long ago,'_ she thought. The cry was replaced by the image of the mother who did not share her blood but had cared for her all the same.

"Your curls are really bouncy," she remembered her mentor and friend, Ty Lee, stating while puffing up her hair like a pillow. Ty Lee's fingers had run through her hair in an attempt to tame, and mold, it into a style similar to her own. A rosy sweet scent followed the pleasant memory, and Margaery felt a small sense of happiness.

"So you say," the lieutenant muttered, narrowing her eyes. "Do you hold no ill will towards the Fire Lord for taking you away from your family?"

"Ma'am! No ma'am!" she replied. A small part of her had hesitated, but only just.

Chi-Ha looked down towards the few the columns that followed Margaery's own. "At ease!" the woman commanded as she clasped her hands behind her back. The platoon relaxed, mimicking the lieutenant's stance, and releasing their mutually baited breath. "You have all performed exceptionally well! As expected from those who follow the inexorable will of the Fire Lord!" A scarred face surveyed the gathered cadets, "All of you are truly a testament to the discipline and strength that the Fire Nation provides to those with enough courage and wisdom to submit to its teachings! Always remember, that the legacy bestowed upon you comes with thousands of years of history!" Margaery's instructor looked to and fro, examining the formation one last time. "You are all to proceed to the bathhouses, and then your classes. Cleanse your bodies, and change your clothes. You have one hour. Dismissed!"

All bowed, snapping their legs together, and presenting the Fire Nation salute of fist below vertical palm.


	36. (King's Landing) Ned III

(King's Landing: 10/2/298 AC) Ned III

"Where in the seven-hells are they Ned?" Robert asked, shifting restlessly on his gilded chair.

Ned turned his head away from the gathered court, to acknowledge his friend, as they mingled amongst each other, trading stories, and gossip. Sansa stood at his side, lost in the excitement of being part of the King's court, and casting several glances towards the crown prince. The guest of honor, Steffon Baratheon, and his parents, the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, were overdue by several minutes, and Robert treated it as if it had been hours.

"Who can say, your grace?" he responded.

"Mayhap he was besieged by admirers of the female persuasion?" Lord Renly added as he bit into a peach.

It was an exaggeration, Ned knew. He had spoken with the boy when he had arrived for the tourney, and found him to be a conservative sort, like his father, but friendly like his uncle. _'And almost wholly resembled the Robert he had known in the Vale. More so than Lord Renly even,'_ Ned thought.

"Ha! That's my nephew!" the King roared in laughter, as he drank deep from his cup. Bits of wine dribbled down his chin and beard.

"The King has summoned them! They should be prompt!" the blonde prince spat, frowning his annoyance.

He felt his daughter lower her head, and look towards the gathered nobles. Lord Renly shot the prince a glance but said nothing.

"What right do they have to keep the royal family waiting? They should…."

"Quiet, boy," the King ordered, causing the prince to snort his displeasure.

"If you wish, your graces," Varys tittered, as he emerged from the shadows, bowing slightly, "I could find out what has waylaid them?"

"Perhaps our newly arrived Dornish guests?" Baelish added, clinging on to his ledger as he always did.

"Dornishmen? Here?" the Queen stated in surprise.

"Dornishmen? Interesting," Lord Renly added in surprise as well, biting off another mouthful of peach.

She looked towards her husband, "Did you know?"

Robert grunted, "I'm sure the message got lost somewhere. Ask Pycelle, if you can find him, he reads them often enough."

"Oh I will have words with him," she said, casting a baleful glance towards Varys and Baelish. "Why was I not informed?"

There was a pregnant pause as Lord Baelish and Varys stared at each other, before Baelish spoke, "I had only learned of their approach last night. The Dornish can be secretive when they wish to be."

"And you?" she focused on the Master of Whisperers, who seemed ready to reply.

"That's enough, woman. They need not explain themselves to you, only to me," Robert whispered gruffly. The Queen frowned, glaring at her husband, before staring off at nothing in particular.

"There they are, your graces," Renly pointed towards the entrance of the hall, the half-eaten peach firmly in his other hand. All those gathered by the main table jerked their heads to the main entrance.

He felt the voices within the hall to fall into hushed whispers, as the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone entered, escorted by their son, his squire Bran, and a Dornish couple. The Dornishman and the Lady of Dragonstone seemed to be heavy in conversation, the Lady Azula held her husband's arm, mirroring the couple from the far south. Ned saw Bran's small form trailing just behind Ser Steffon, to his left, wearing what could only be described as a uniform similar to Steffon's, black pants, dark gray shirt, black embroidered vest, and boots, only with gray coloring on his cuffs and embroidery, instead of gold. A single silver wolf pin adorned Bran's chest while a golden rose adorned Steffon's.

"Very interesting…" Lord Renly muttered, stroking his chin.

Stannis conversed with Ser Steffon, who waved and smiled at several nobles who congregated around them, mostly high-born ladies. As the group grew closer, the Dornishman's features had become more pronounced, revealing thin eyebrows, black viper eyes, and a sharp nose. His hair was black and glossy, with thin silver streaks, and he wore a pale red silk cloak and a shirt armored with overlapping discs of bright copper. The woman at his side had an exotic look to her and long black hair.

Robert rose from his seat, a smile on his bearded face. "Nephew! Goodsister! Brother! Come here, bring your guests, and greet your King!"

A path between the King and Lord Stannis' family cleared, allowing the group easier passage through the crowd. Ser Steffon stood in-between his parents and the Dornish couple, as they marched forward, eyes straight. Once they neared the foot of the King's table they bent the knee, while the women curtsied.

"Rise!" Robert commanded, looking towards his nephew then his Dornish guests. "I see you have brought company to the feast held in your honor. Introductions are in order, yes?"

"Of course, your grace. They are the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell," Steffon pointed to the man, then to the woman, "and his paramour Ellaria Sand."

"A Sand? Hmm, I like Sands," Robert replied, glancing wistfully towards the ceiling with a grin on his face. The King shook off his reverie, and continued, "You presence is quite the surprise. You are welcome, of course, but what compelled you to come to the Capitol?"

"Your Goodsister can be quite…persuasive," the Prince of Dorne looked towards the Lady of Dragonstone and smiled.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Baelish and Varys shift. _"Keep an eye on them, whenever you can,"_ Azula's words rang in his ears.

"Ha! So I have been told! Whatever the case, today is a time for celebration. My nephew's good showing in the tourney warrants as such before he returns to Dragonstone! Come! Rise! Go! Eat and drink your fill, with my blessings!" Robert smiled.

They rose, and Prince Oberyn replied, nodding his head, "You honor us, your grace. We are pleased to celebrate your nephew. He has given Dorne much hope, and as such, you have our gratitude." The Dornish Prince gave one last look to the King and his gathered advisors before he turned and whispered words into the Lady Azula's ear. She whispered her response, before the Dornish couple ventured off, disappearing into the crowd.

Robert maneuvered his way around the table and stood before his nephew, _'Like a mirror staring into the past,'_ he thought. The book the Lady Azula had given him had yielded nothing, but looking at them, Steffon and Robert, his mind began to tug at him, but he knew not of what. Suddenly the King embraced Steffon in a bone crushing hug that Steffon could only reciprocate with a pat from underneath his trapped arms.

"Thank you for this celebration, my King!" the Silver-tongue struggled between gasping breaths.

Robert released him from the hug, placed his hands on Ser Steffon's shoulders, and looked into his eyes. "Were it only not so," the King muttered, patting him on the shoulders before smiling. "Go on, greet the others," he patted him one last time and saw him off as Steffon, followed by Bran, greeted the rest of the household and council members.

"Nephew!" he heard Renly state softly, embracing the young knight.

"No ill-feelings for the tourney uncle?" Steffon began to question before their conversation was drowned out, smothered by Robert's bellowing.

Robert turned his attention to Lord Stannis and Lady Azula. "Brother! Goodsister!"

Robert embraced his brother, looking him up and down, "I see you have picked up the fashion of my Goodsister's people."

"You could say that your grace," Stannis glanced towards his wife who had been smiling broadly. Stannis wore a uniform like the Lady Azula was known to wear, nearly exclusively, right down to the gold-trimmed boots. Although Ned noted, they did not have that same 'hooked' appearance at the toes.

"It's a good look for you brother, rigid and grim," Robert laughed.

Lord Stannis reacted with an awkward, "Thank you, your grace," before Robert moved on to the Lady of Dragonstone.

Robert gave the back of her hand a soft kiss, "You look lovely, Goodsister." His gaze seemed to linger nearly a bit too long on the gown's neckline which amplified the Lady's 'assets.' The black gown had gold flames embroidered onto thin lacey fabric, which ran up from the waist, past the torso, and thinned out at the shoulders. One side held a fringed sleeve of the same material with spots of golden flame embellishments, the other did not, with only a strap of golden flame embroidery holding up that side of the gown. Her hair was drawn up behind her head in a large bun, held together by a headpiece with a large golden stag emblazoned in front of a five-pronged flame.

"So you say. I trust I do not look 'rigid and grim' in that same clothing?" she questioned.

"A jest, nothing more, goodsister," the King's words seemed to catch in his throat before he laughed it off. "You could wear a potato sack and still remain stunning."

Azula giggled, stunning Ned and a few within the court, her own husband included. "Well, now I see where our son," she tightened her arms around Stannis' own, "gets his 'silver-tongue' from."

"Ha! Gods know there are those," Robert cast a slight glare at the crown prince, "who would benefit from such a trait." The king's mood lightened as he looked towards Ser Steffon. The young knight retrieved a small doll, wrapped in cloth, from under his vest, and handed it to the Princess Myrcella.

"She's beautiful, cousin!" the Princess cried, snuggling the little blond doll in the red gown, before launching forward to hug her cousin.

"It was an honor, Princess," Steffon replied, reciprocating Myrcella's embrace.

He heard Joffrey scoff before muttering something under his breath. _'The Prince has grown unsettling ever since their return to King's Landing,'_ he observed, following the Prince's baleful gaze towards his cousin. Ned's instincts tore at him, warning him of Robert's eldest, and as miserable as he felt for thinking ill of the boy, he had found himself glumly rethinking the betrothal. _'Robert would be disappointed.'_ Ned wished he would not be the one to take this one last dream away from his childhood friend, but as Sansa's father, she was his responsibility to protect, and his family came first. Looking towards his beautiful daughter, seemingly enraptured by the kind display between the Baratheon cousins, he heard a wistful sigh escape Sansa's lips and saw a smile grace her delicate face. She looked up, saw him observing her, and quickly turned away, her face taking on a crimson hue.

"Lord Stark!" a velvet voice rang out. The Lady Azula stretched out her free hand, startling him out of his thoughts. Her right arm remained entwined with the arm of Lord Stannis who spoke softly with the King.

"How is my fleet brother?" Ned overheard Robert's attempt at murmuring.

"'The Azula,' nears completion. Three more months, your grace, and it will ride the seas under your banner."

"I hear she is to be the largest Iron ship to date. Larger even than 'the Ozai,'" Robert replied, putting an arm over Stannis, and leading him away from the others to continue their conversation in private. The Lady Azula's arm grew slack, releasing its hold on the Lord of Dragonstone.

"My Lady," he replied, kissing the back of the proffered hand. Her burning golden eyes, and brilliant smile gave her an aura of royalty. "Your son performed well," he stated, stealing a glance at the Heir of Dragonstone. Ser Steffon had since moved on, past Myrcella, and had uttered something into Prince Tommen's ear, causing the young boy to erupt into a fit of laughter. For the briefest instant, a look of sadness seemed to come over him, before the young Knight chuckled it away, tussling the young Prince's hair.

"Yes," the Lady of Dragonstone replied, looking towards her son. "By all measure, he would be the perfect son. Young. Handsome. Gallant."

' _And the spitting image of Robert,'_ he found himself thinking again, remembering their time in the Vale.

Azula looked towards the King still in quiet conversation with Lord Stannis, "Between you and I, Lord Stark, my husband finds it quite frustrating when people keep liking our son to the King."

"I would not presume to…" he began, slightly ashamed to have ever thought so.

" _Wait until you see him, Ned. You'll like him. He should have been your nephew. The son your sister and I should have had_ ," He remembered Robert confiding in him during their journey from Winterfell to King's Landing.

"Come now, Lord Stark. I may not have met the King in his youth, but I met him close enough to it to see it myself," she whispered.

"You'd have to be blind not to notice the similarities, Lord Stark," the Master of Coin chimed in. A minty smell accompanied his voice, clashing with the fruity sweet aroma hovering around the Lady Azula.

"Inviting yourself into the conversations of others, Lord Baelish?"

"Only when the topic of conversation interests me, my Lady," Catelyn's short, slender, friend replied.

"Do you have anything worthwhile to contribute, Baelish? Or are you merely here to remind me that you still stalk these halls?" Ned felt a slight rise in temperature, as the woman spoke. The warm smile, and soft eyes which had been welcoming, melted away. A razor sharp smile and burning eyes replaced them, causing the Master of Coin to shudder slightly, before regaining his composure and casting a sly grin.

"An observation, my Lady. Nothing more," Baelish answered.

"Go on," Azula stated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

His eyes locked on to Baelish casting him a strange look. "Are you certain, my Lady?"

"Why should I not be?" Her questioning voice had grown low, cautious.

Baelish smiled, the warmth not reaching his eyes, "I hear the fires of Dragonstone grow hot…"

"Do they now? They might be hotter than you think," the cautious voice giving way to one of hidden meaning, hiding behind a pleasant smile. "Perhaps you and I should continue this conversation elsewhere? With your pardon, Lord Stark?"

He nodded his response and saw Lord Baelish take Lady Azula's arm. Together, the pair disappeared down into the crowd. His mind focused on the previous bit of conversation regarding Ser Steffon and his likeness to the King. The topics of fires and Dragonstone held little meaning for him, and he had not been too keen to delve into what it had meant for Baelish and Lady Azula.

He had thought on Baelish's words, _"You'd have to be blind not to notice the similarities, Lord Stark."_ Once again, his mind tugged at him as he beheld the young knight standing face to face with his royal cousin, the crown prince. The boy stood nearly a head taller than Robert's eldest, and given time he would likely grow to rival the King himself in height. _'The large build, the kindly smile, the pitch black hair.'_ As exotic as Stannis' wife was, Ned realized their children had looked nothing like their mother. At least, not the two that he had met, Ser Steffon and Lady Ursa. They had her eyes, but nothing more. Their look was wholly Stannis. Wholly Baratheon…

"The Seed is strong…" He remembered Robert telling him of Jon's last words.

The words resonated deep within his mind, and the Tower of the Hand, where the book awaited, called to him…


	37. (Casterly Rock) Tyrion II

(Casterly Rock: 10/2/298 AC) Tyrion II

"Tyrion," a low, familiar, voice uttered in the darkness.

"Ugh," he groaned, reaching to his side, grasping for a whore that was not there. 'Oh! Right, I am not in the Riverlands anymore, pity.' "What is it?" He growled, somewhat annoyed at his sleep being disturbed at such an early hour. "I've only just returned last night, can't it wai…" the demand was cut short by the sumptuous red satin curtains being drawn, flooding the room with bright, white light.

The familiar voice spoke again, the brilliant lighting now adding clarity to the speaker's stern features. His father's face twitched, and Tyrion fumbled for a response.

"Father, I…" he began.

"Make yourself presentable and meet me in my solar," his father commanded, in a tone not encouraging resistance. For a moment the Lord of Casterly Rock was a statue, examining Tyrion's prone form, frowning as he often did when it came to his youngest son, before glancing to his side table, "and bring your book." His father suddenly turned on his heels and exited the room.

He rose from his bed, and stretched, his bones and joints protesting with a series of pops and snaps. He sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes, before yawning. 'First recalled from the Riverlands, now woken at an early hour,' he turned his head to the open window, gauging the light, and trying to pinpoint the time of day. "Well, perhaps not that early an hour," he chuckled to himself, realizing it was nearing midday. With one final stretch, he got up off his bed and walked across the soft carpet to the small washbasin near his door. He tested the water with his finger and found, to his surprise, that it was fairly warm. 'Father must have had the water poured while he had been asleep,' he thought, clasping his hands together to splash the water upon his face several times. The fourth splash washed away the last remnants of his exhaustion.

"Much better," he said to himself.

He looked through his clothing and found a richly crafted tunic in Lannister crimson, with a golden lion embroidered on the left shoulder. His black leggings and boots were plain but comfortable. Golden clasps served as fasteners for his boots. The reflection staring at his from across the room looked 'presentable' as he neared the mirror. He gave himself one last look before returning to the table near his bed to retrieve his book. 'The History of the Fire Nation,' the title read, 'what an odd request of father to make.' Tyrion thought for a moment, before making his way to his father's solar, on the opposite end of Casterly Rock.

* * *

The trip had been uneventful, with only the occasional servant cleaning, or otherwise being occupied by similar menial tasks. The large golden doors to his father's solar were shut, and four Lannister red cloaks stood guard, watching his approach.

One of the guards knocked, "Your son for you, my Lord," the guard stated, announcing Tyrion's presence.

"Let him enter," his father boomed. The guard on the right reached for the handle shaped like a roaring lion and pulled the door open, revealing the forms of his father, and his uncle Kevan, the latter of which remained seated reading from one of the many articles of parchment strewn about the table.

His father's solar looked as intimidating as ever, while it was smaller than the Great Hall of the Rock, it seemed to radiate and reinforce his father's unyielding presence. Two roaring golden lions stood on each side of the fireplace, where his father stood in contemplation, his arm stretched out, and hand pressed against the mantle. Several tapestries lined the walls, separated by crimson Lannister banners. Facing the fireplace was a large tapestry, commissioned by his father from the artists on Dragonstone, depicting an iron ship sailing over tumultuous waters with a roaring lion figurehead.

'I wonder if father has finally managed to persuade the Lady Azula into building him an Iron ship for his own?'

He heard feet shift in the direction of the fireplace. "Sit," his father commanded. Banishing the idle thought from his mind, he moved to sit near his uncle whose focus remained firmly on the scroll before him. Interspersed between the parchments and scrolls lay several books, all of which appeared to be ledgers of finance written by the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish. He found a place for his book and set it down.

"Can't say I find your taste in reading to be enthralling, uncle," he joked, lifting up a random scroll and scanning its contents. "A request for ten thousand stags? For what? A privy?"

He looked to his father and saw a grave look in his eyes. "Now is not the time for jokes," he stated with finality. "Look at the hand, can you say with certainty that they are all written by the same man?"

The question felt odd, but he studied the scroll again, before setting it aside and taking another one at random. Comparing it with the first, he saw nothing indicative of a change in style. His father remained still, silently commanding him to take up another, and another. "All of these look the same, father. What am I trying to discover?" Kevan handed him the roll of parchment he had been reading when he had entered his father's solar.

 _"To Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock,_

 _I send you this letter, in the hands of a trusted envoy. He knows not the contents of this letter, only that it reach your halls in a timely manner. Word has reached my ears of a plot by the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone to have your daughter, Queen Cersei Baratheon, first of her name, removed as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and her children; the Crown Prince Joffrey, Prince Tommen, and the Princess Myrcella denounced as bastards being born of incest between the Queen and her brother Ser Jaime Lannister…"_

Tyrion felt himself grow still, as the shock came over his face. He looked towards his father, "This is madness. What proof do they have?" was all he could say.

"Hmmhm, a disgusting accusation," his father replied. "Keep reading."

 _"…Furthermore, the Lady Azula has been quietly building alliances in what I would assume to be in preparation for this betrayal. I have, on several occasions, intercepted a handful of her messages to Dorne and the North, and the scant few that have reached my eyes hinted at more than simple alliances. Several of my tax collectors in the south have spied a caravan rumored to be led by the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell. I believe he is to be attending the feast held in Ser Steffon's honor, but in actuality maybe attending to discuss a marriage alliance between his niece, Princess Arianne Martell, and Lord Stannis' son, Ser Steffon Baratheon._

 _I am aware of my lower station compared to your own, my Lord, and should not overstep in requests made, but it would be prudent to dispatch additional Lannister guardsmen to protect the Queen and hers. I will do what I can to assist her, but already, what little power my position yet holds, is a far cry from what would be necessary to defend your family in the capital._

 _I look forward to your response._

 _Lord Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin to King Robert Baratheon"_

He calmly set the paper down and observed the faces of his uncle and father, as they awaited his response. "This is a serious allegation," he patted the letter he had just read. Thoughts of how his father had wanted him to study the hand on Baelish's previous missives flooded his mind, and the question his father had asked, replayed itself in his memory. He looked towards the sheet of parchment he had set down and studied the hand, and the hand of the others he had read before it. "If you want me to say the style of hand is similar, it is. There are just as many differences between that letter and the others, as there are between the others."

"That was my assessment, as well," his uncle stated.

"However," he continued, "the differences in hand appear more consistently within that letter than they do in the others. Far too consistent to dismiss as merely a tired hand, but judging from its contents," he cast another look at the letter, "the differences could possibly be attributed to a fearful hand?"

"A forgery, then?" The Lord of Casterly Rock replied.

"If it is, it is an exceptional one. But either way," he trailed off, the different scenarios playing in his mind.

"We need to respond," his uncle finished the words for him.

"Yes, uncle, but how to do it? Even if it's a forgery, there is no way of knowing if the words it contained were true or false. Accepting them at face value is just as foolhardy as dismissing them out of hand. Perhaps, sending in troops is exactly what this individual wishes to happen?" he stated.

"What purpose would that serve? Save only as a way for Dragonstone and Casterly Rock to come to blows?" Kevan replied, looking down towards the scattered letters.

"That may be exactly the point. However, any type of written or in person reply to Lord Baelish himself is also dangerous. Especially given the questionable nature and authorship of the letter's contents. To say the Master of Coin, who started off as a mere customs officer at Gulltown, is lacking in ambition would be disingenuous. And confronting Stannis on this would be just as ill-advised as confronting the King or the Queen for that matter."

"But surely the King would see reason?" Kevan stated, "This plot only serves to set Stannis as next in line to the throne! And Cersei…"

"Would act far too quickly on it, and if it was meant to goad us into conflict with Dragonstone, then the letter would have served its purpose. As for the King, it is no secret that the King holds his goodsister and nephew in high regard. Such a connection would be difficult to overcome with mere treasonous accusations. Regardless of authenticity," his mind grew heavy as the words left his mouth.

His father stepped away from the fireplace and came around to sit at the head of the table. It creaked slightly as his father rested his forearms on its edges. "What was your impression of the Lady Azula on your journey to Winterfell?" His father's eyes rested upon the book he had brought before snapping back to him.

"Her words were always measured, and her face never revealed anything. She spoke rarely, choosing to remain in the company of her Flameguard. On several occasions, the King would invite her to partake of whatever food he had set, and she would join him. Conversing of her son, or the rebellion, or whatever wars had occurred from the world she had come. Only once did she truly engage me in conversation, during the middle of our journey, when I asked about her people and their history," he nodded towards the book. "It had been a gift from her personal library."

"And what did you learn about her people?" his father questioned, trying to form a picture of how to gauge the Lady of Dragonstone, from the examples set forth by her countrymen.

"A proud society. Full of tradition, and engaged in a war spanning the entirety of her world. If such a thing could be imagined," he answered.

"My gods, how did they achieve such a feat!? It has to be an exaggeration! Who were they fighting?!" The shock was readily evident on his uncle's face.

"Thousands upon thousands of iron ships, iron 'tanks' similar to the one the Lady of Dragonstone used on Lord Mace during the rebellion, and millions of men and women, were all brought to bear upon the enemies of the Lady Azula's people. And the ships were not just the size of the cruisers, no. Most rivaled the size of 'the Ozai.' The name of which was taken in honor of the Lady Azula's father, Fire Lord Ozai. A man who had very nearly conquered his world, and kept his growing empire firmly under his control."

A look of horror overcame his uncle's face, while his father remained impassive, listening intently. "And their enemies?" Kevan questioned.

"Barbaric nomads, a slaver kingdom, and dogmatic sorcerer tribesmen. The first lot to suffer the initial volley were a nomadic horde of bald tattooed savages. The way they are described is somewhat similar to the Dothraki, and their methods of war left many of their neighbors in disarray until the Lady Azula's great grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, exterminated them to the last man, woman, and child," he stole a glance at his father, knowing the feat having sounded familiar.

"As I had done to the Reynes and Tarbecks," his father replied, acknowledging the act for what it was.

'A statement of power,' Tyrion thought. "Only resulting in far more dead than those of the Reynes and Tarbecks combined."

"What of the others?" the unease crept into his uncle's voice.

"The last records the Lady Azula held of her home and the reports from the front had told of a failed invasion of a northern tribe of water sorcerers. A fleet of nearly two hundred iron ships strong had been swallowed up by the seas when a water demon rose from the depths to take them. As for the Kingdom of slavers, Fire Lord Ozai had been formulating a plan to pierce their walls. From what she had said, the Lady Azula, herself, only held partial knowledge of her father's thoughts on the matter."

"From what little you gathered from her," his father began, steepling his fingers in thought. "Would she seem the type to attempt the madness indicated in the letter?"

He thought long, and hard, on the question, knowing the weight of his answer. "Yes, I believe she would be. However, her and her son's close links with the King would have certainly assured that Robert would have cast Cersei out and drawn us into war. She is waiting for something, and our response with force may well be it."

"Being Lady to the Lord of Dragonstone must chafe at her, after being a heartbeat away from inheriting an entire world. Her destiny had been laid out before her, and now…" Kevan stated, straightening his back, resolved to see things through to the end, wherever they may go.

"If the allegations are true, then she will quickly find out that even the greatest destinies can be cut short," his father growled, the look in his eyes brooked no doubt.

"What would you have us do?" He asked.

"First, we will deal with your sister's insistence that Myrcella remain in King's Landing. You and one hundred Lannister guard will see to it. The guard is not large enough to raise alarm, a respectable amount of guards for members of our house. Find out what is happening, and convince Cersei to release Myrcella. A marriage alliance will need to be made now, to ensure Tyrell cooperation should things go south. I do not want the entirety of the royal family present within the capital, not until these rumors are settled, one way or another," his father cast a begrudging look towards him.

'He is upset that such an important task can only be entrusted to him,' Tyrion thought, feeling simultaneously incapable and excited at the prospect of playing the game.

"Kevan, I want you to quietly raise a small force of two thousand men. Send messages to the other lords to be at the ready, but no official call to arms until Tyrion sends his report, or King's Landing goes up in flames," the Warden of the West commanded in a firm proud voice, befitting his station.

His uncle rose from his, bowing his head, "It would be my honor, brother."

"And Kevan?"

Ser Kevan Lannister looked up, "Yes, my lord?"

"The fountain in Lannisport, the bronze statues?" his father stated, speaking of the small twin statues depicting the Lady Azula and her dead friend Ty Lee. "If the woman moves against us, have them melted down, and used for weapons. Now go."

His uncle nodded once more before leaving the solar.

"What are you still doing here?" he flinched at his father's voice. "You leave tomorrow. Go, and leave the book. I will learn whatever else is hidden in these pages."


	38. (Dragonstone) Maege I

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

* * *

(Dragonstone 296) Maege I (by sensfan90)

She hated fire. She hated the smell of the smoke, the emptiness of its existence. She loved snow, the softness, the way it froze into ice, melt and then fly away in vapor. Most of all the snow reminded her of home, where her family was, where her blood was. Fire did not live in peace, it burnt and spread without care. The flame may be bright even sweet in its warmth but its comfort was fleeting. The Heart Trees were gone, not like the forests and bogs of her home. Not this place, Dragonstone was so wrong to her. She knew in her soul she should not be, her purpose was far away. She was a still a cub, not a fearsome bear like her mother.

"Cadet Mormont, have you finished your studies?" Without thinking her body knelt down, hand firmly in her palm. The instructor looked over her work for a moment, smiling as it met approval. Of course it did, father had instructed her from the day she gained her letters. She knew more about the Fire Nation than any Westeros born bender alive.

"Excellent Cadet, a message from Commander Chang awaits you in your quarters." Nodding she bowed once more before leaving, the sounds of training filling her ears. This at least she could lose herself in, mother and father sat and talked as the Flameguard drilled for as long as she could remember in Dragon's Cove. Other times they took part; Mother in her mail, ever wrathful with a morningstar, father eyeing an opening for his flame. For a few brief minutes she found some solace, a pity she reached her quarters so quickly. As expected the letter sat on her desk begging to be read. Sparing a glance at her sister sleeping, she sighed as the instructors clearly held her to a higher standard.

 _Lady Maege Mormont_

 _It has come to my attention your studies have progressed quicker than anticipated, my son will arrive this evening to prepare for live exercises. I am aware my lady that you wish to cease your schooling as soon as possible, for all its power and reach I do sympathize with the realities of combustion. Nonetheless the Firelord and your family are clear in their wishes; you will not leave until we have determined you are fit and ready to control your power as befitting of your station._

"A power I did not want, at least mother warned me about the other problem. Father…father was too kind to his blood." Father always spoke of the Fire Nation as a wondrous people, industrious, smart and worthy of pride. Yet for her they seemed disdainful of what she held dear, always grasping for more instead of appreciating the beauty of what they had. They craved more power, more adoration, more everything. At least she understood why they craved her, mother made it very clear the day she learned of having a baby brother the duty of a noble lady. The fact that her bloodline also happened to produce strong Fire Benders and having a large if somewhat empty estate made it all the better. Lost in thoughts she barely caught herself as she entered the arena.

"Commander Chang, I have come for the exercise you requested. What are your orders?"

"Cadets Rina, Takkar and Haruto will attack with their flames, you are to respond in attack only with combustion. I will stay in sidelines to prevent serious injury to either party. We will either end or escalate the exercise depending on your aptitude."

"Am I allowed to use my own flames against them should the worst come to pass?"

"It would constitute a failure in this test but personal safety may influence my conclusions. Still my presence should mean such problems are minimal." _But not unavoidable, at least you do not deny it._

"I will take my station then." Both sides bowed as was tradition and took their places. Takkar in the lead with Haruto and Rina flanking him, Chang silently to her left. She hid her smile as she already knew the ins and outs of her opponents, a secret she held dear. A part of her wondered if the rumors of her family were true, perhaps the skinchanger blood was stronger than they let on. She could feel the flames and auras of others as clear as day, even her twin Azula showed the talent if one listened hard enough to her ramblings. Commander Chang glowed strong and hard, an ember fostered by years of training and experience. Cadet Rina burst from a flicker to a storm, a young women trying to impress but suffering the uncertainty of youth. Haruto, now there was a pitiful speck of heat grasping at air. He was boy playing at a young man all too aware his future in the Fire Nation was at the feet of his betters. And Takkar, the boy had a bright flame but every so often it would almost snuff itself out, as if it was reaching beyond its own grasp.

"Begin."

"Charge, do not let her gain ground!" Three versus one and without fire to shield herself the battle seemed lost but she could see Chang shake his head, as if they were all being stupid. Feeling their flames burst over the ground she smiled as it finally clicked. Erupting the spark in her lungs she pushed all her fire down, the force of flame propelling her in the air. As the she began to descend her chi focused itself….

"Enough, Lady Mormont wins the round." Landing she quickly exhaled, feeling the shock. Combustion was painful to stop once it began and more than one of her predecessors had died because of it. Still Commander Chang and Lee had assured her as long as the chi remained within her body she would be fine. If it had already erupted from the body she had to use it….always.

"But father!"

"I said the flames could not be used to attack, Lady Mormont wins the round for actually paying attention." Takkar sneered for a moment but reigned himself in and returned to his station. Haruto looked like a startled rabbit, in real combat he would have died. Rina at least bowed respectfully, wordplay and harsh lessons were a staple of the curriculum after all. Turning slightly she bowed to her instructor, whatever one said of the man he never played favorites when it came to discipline or teaching. Then again the fact that his son missed such an obvious trick spoke ill of his future. As mother said, politics and nobility did not change between Westeros and the Fire Nation.

"Second round begin!" This time no one moved, each side afraid to fall into a trap. It put her at the disadvantage, studying three sets of eyes and feet made it far too easy to miss intent. Sure enough the she barely moved in time to dodge the strike from Rina.

"You missed Rina!"

"I did not!" Feeling the searing heat behind her rolled to the side. Caught in a poor position Takkar and Haruto proceeded to advance. Looking from the corner of her eye the problem dawned on her, the banners of the hall were aflame. It was a dirty trick but it worked, the banners of the now truly flaming stag meant points of ignition to move flames from her rear. Her back may be turned but even she could picture the nod of approval from Chang, Rina had trapped her without anyone noticing. Inhaling she had only one play, forcing within herself every flame erupted for a moment by her will.

"A wall of fire is a poor defence against another firebender Maege. Surrender?"

"You missed your chance Takkar!" He did the arrogant prick, he forgot the single greatest problem of fire compared to other elements, it could be extinguished swiftly and no longer of use. Focusing her chi she tilted her head upward and let it flow.

 _ **KAAAAAAAAABOOOOOOM**_

It was over in an instant, the explosion pushing Chang, his son and the two students back harshly. Suddenly lacking the air to fuel itself the fire died. The young men and woman looked fearful but Commander Chang, he actually smiled at her work. Good, by the Old Gods she did not want to use it again.

"Excellent Lady Mormont, your control was absolutely perfect, though may I ask how you knew the distance without so much as thinking?"

"Instinct Commander, ever since you and the academy taught me to better control my breathing and flame I just knew." Chang nodded, though a bit of distaste flashed over his eyes. Mother told her all men were vain jealous folk, perhaps he simply was affronted his lessons were not her real guide? Either way he conceded she had combusted with just enough power to dispel the flames and not enough to endanger her comrades. Of course what mattered for the spar was she had the time and know how at all to use it, it was a bloody death sentence if it hit.

"I will inform the Firelord and your parents of your accomplishment, for now you are dismissed for the evening."

Fist in palm she bowed and turned to leave, however she noticed the older cadets approaching. "Impressive Lady Mormont, my father does not give accolades lightly. Perhaps we could spar alone some time?" His flame was wild again, threatening to snuff itself out. She thanked the Old Gods she was young and not blooded as mother informed her what some men could do alone with a woman of her station.

"Perhaps in future, though our classes are rarely one and the same. You are all far more experienced in the academy than I. I'm sure I won't do so well a second time. Besides someone has to look after my sister, by the spirits and the Old Gods she can't be left alone for long."

"All sisters are like that Maege." With a steady aura, Rina at least spoke without greater meaning. Then again she had four siblings if her memory was right. Haruto simply bowed a tad too quickly, clearing wishing to leave. Mayhaps the rumors of what Lady Ursa did to him were true, another half-breed crushing his ego was too much?

"I will take your word for it Cadet Rina, now if you will excuse me I have a meeting with Maester Cressen. I do not wish to be late." Takkar looked to say something but Rina and Haruto had already turned away leaving him with no good reason to stay. Making her way through the halls she eventually reached the ravenry where the elder man was busy looking over the missives. She knew Dragonstone was a far busier keep the her own in Lyanna's Bay but the number of ravens were startling.

"Oh hello my lady. I apologize for the mess but Lord Stannis and Lady Azula have been busy of late."

"I did not think the Master of Ships was this busy."

"Yes well Lord Stannis likes to be kept well informed and the Lady Azula even more so. Thank heavens for the academy or I would not have the clerks to sort every raven."

"My mother says thinks similar things. Sailors, soldiers and dock workers are all the same; you never have enough."

"A intelligent woman indeed. Unfortunately my dear I know why you are here. No reply has come from Bear Island or Lyanna's Bay. Have no fear at the rate I hear your studies are progressing you should see home within the year."

"I may but Azula would still be here. As much as I want to go home I will not leave her alone Maester, she has so few friends of worth here."

"What about Lady Lyanna?"

"Family, she need friends, real ones. Besides my cousin can be a little much at times."

"So I hear, it has only been a few months Lady Maege, most of the cadets have known each other for years. They still see you and your family as guests in their home."

"They want it to be our home, that's the problem!"

Placing whatever parchment he was focused on upon the desk he looked at her more closely. Experience dawned on the much older man."You seem troubled of something far deeper child, how may I help you?"

"I miss home, I miss….I miss my life. The eyes of the these people, these Andals and Fire Nation feel wrong."

"I know this place must seem foreign…."

"I'm a Mormont living deep in Andal lands. Housed in a keep created by Valyrian magic and full of my father's blood. Which apparently comes from another world if words and wind be true. Unless our bread comes from Sothoryos I do not see how it could be any worse."

"Many children feel such feelings when fostered, perhaps…"

"Don't you people get it, I am of the First Men, not the Fire Nation. I am a Mormont, a proud family in service to House Stark. No one understands, I don't feel anything of this place, even my flames feel hollow. I can feel their stares, I am something else to them and the worst part is I know it to be true."

"Ah….ah I see. You do not believe in the Firelord do you?"

"No, she is but a woman. She is not of the Old Gods or the New and she is not my Queen."

"She is no queen…." She stared as if what was obvious to a child was lost on him. "Very well her people may treat her as a Queen but that is how their society formed, your father's society formed."

"But it's not mine Maester, why does anyone not see that? When my cousin and I sit proudly in our green tunics they laugh and sneer instead of acknowledging our history. My blood has fought the Ironborn for centuries, Wildings, knights and criminals. What have they done in Westeros?"

"People's minds are their own child, as long as you are sure of yourself than you will find your own path. Lord Stannis had much the same thought with the whims of his wife and yet his children are every bit a Baratheon as they are of the flames. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you Maester for your time." Cressen smiled as she left, at the very least the man understood her unlike most everyone else. Finally reaching her quarters she smiled as the red, black and gold banners faded into greens and greys. Banners of Bear Island, the Wolfswood and the Barrowlands filled their room, none larger than the great Weirwood her mother had painted as the first she ever prayed too. Was that why she felt so wrong, that the Old Gods were too far away?

"Ahhhhhhhhh Maege….Maege please help me!" Her blood ran cold, her sister had been sleeping soundly only a moment ago yet moved like a shadowcat to her side.

"Azula….Azula what's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare, it was terrible!" Relaxing she smiled, her sister always dreamed of great and terrible things. A dragon of ice one night, a direwolf the next. What was it this time?

"Its only a dream, I am sure you will be alright. Go back to sleep."

"But sister I had it last night and the morning before. It's always the same….always."

"Sister, what is so scary that you almost cry when you look me in the eye?"

"I saw you sister, I saw you fighting surrounded by flames."

"Like I was firebending?"

"Yes….no maybe? But it's what's in the flames."

"….Tell me sister, what did you see?"

"I saw a massive doe shed a tear, burning stags, hollow stags and one that looked like it was covered in the fur of a lion. And they clashed violently as you screamed. Your flames engulfing everyone."

"My flames killed them?"

"That's just it sister, no one screamed from your flames. You screamed and screamed yet they continued to clash, the bones piling wherever they go."

"Bones?"

"Bodies, bones and blood everywhere. Wherever the Stags clashed, people died."


	39. (Dragonstone) Maege II

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

* * *

(Dragonstone 296) Maege II (by sensfan90)

"Cadets, Dragon South!" Knees bent, body laid low and let the heat blaze along the stone floor.

"Huah!"

"Cadets, Dragon East" Push low and straight, flame at their feet arching into the air.

"Huah!"

"Cadets Dragon North!" Focused in front, a single vibrant flame pushed to the limit.

"Huah!"

"Cadets Dragon West!" Body straight, arms out and arch the blaze into from the sky to the earth.

"And stand down. Most of you did well though on the whole your stamina needs to improve. Fear not for at your age a good deal of your will burn brighter as you get older." Lieutenant Chi-Ha had pushed them harshly in their stances, more so than usual. The four dragons or four directions were the most basic exercises after breathing yet just as difficult to master. She saw her students go rigid as the instructor approached them, their auras swirling in fear. It was almost comical how quickly a group of young men and women shriveled into frightened girls and boys. Then again even without her aura Chi-Ha had a presence that put the weak and the lazy on edge.

"Cadet Azula your east was sloppy. You have to rise like the sun not sputter like a fish on land."

"I…I understand Lieutenant. I will strive to improve." Chi-Ha looked to continue but moved on, Azula's form was flawed but not exactly poor by her experience. She just did not put the effort in her workouts to build her inner spark. At least she was not alone, the woman seemed to find fault in most of the students. Really what did she expect? Half of them were not even men or women, simply children learning to live. Of course they were going to fail at times.

Azula turned to her with a few tears dripping, it was clear she did not want the other students to see. "What's wrong sister?"

"Lieutenant Chi-Ha was so mean. Not like back home, there learning was fun. I mean it was still tiring and hard work but we had everyone to help us. Not here, now the other boys and girls laugh and sneer when we bend poorly."

"It's just how she was taught sister, we have way more people in Dragonstone to teach. It would be impossible Azula to continue like we were among the Scorching Bears. Unlike with father and his soldiers there are too many students to keep an eye on at all times. They have to be strict or there could be accidents. Remember what father said when we sat before the Heart Tree?"

"Always mind your flame, the spark can end life as much as embrace it."

"Right. Now imagine fifty benders and their flames all flowing at the same time. The spark is that much greater and the danger to others that much worse." Wiping her eyes Azula nodded, accepting the explanation even if she clearly did not like it.

"Still she did not have to yell. She could have told me nicely to change my form. Or said so in private, you know not in front of everybody."

"Better her than Commander Chang or Zha Leng. I've seen the detention they gave the unruly students. No thanks." Azula shuddered as she rolled her eyes, sometime she wondered why they were so different. Of the two of them she was the most mature, not that she wished for it but a consequence of her combustion. When father sent her here she knew enough that it was because whatever needed to be done could not be trusted with her blood. Her teachers never stuck her or wished her ill but the pain and work was more than she believed her parents could ever stomach. Azula bless her only dealt with a harsher group of teachers. Judging by her flames they may very well have a point. Hers were better still but at least there was improvement to her eye.

"Come on then, its time for lunch and so help me I will not be the last to grab the stew. All the good meat is gone by then." Putting a spring in her step she laughed as Azula took up the unspoken challenge as they raced towards the dining hall. Just as quickly she slowed down as they both noticed several new banners along the hall. One of the few traditions common between the Westeros and the Fire Nation was the tapestries of famous warriors and battles; The Burning of Harrenhal, The Battle of the Trident, The Siege of Storm's End. Naturally the largest and most opulent detailed the sinking of the Redwyne Fleet by the Firelord herself.

"Oh is that?" She turned and nodded to her sister. A bleeding stag surrounded by dragons, a griffin circling overhead. From the north a tide of Wolves, Falcons and Trouts came to the their rescue. Every boy and girl in the North knew of this day and she gathered so did most of the realm.

"Yes the Battle of the Bells where Grandmother and Uncle Jorah fought among the Northmen who rescued the King."

"Why no bears?"

"Why no merman, lizard lions, eagles or moose? Or a white sun, a dragon of black or green, a flayed man….some horses and a trio red hearts?" She could not help herself, the giggles came through as she pictured a banner where every house looked like its sigil in the battle.

"Well alright I get it. Did Grandmother ever tell you anything more about the fighting?"

"Well…I heard mother talking about how Aunt Lyra was born because of the victory but not much else." Ugh she chose to have left the bawdy tale before it barely got started thank you very much. "Why do you ask?"

"Well Aunt Lyanna always speaks of our history and I wanted to talk about it for once." Of course she did, then again she was just as proud of Bear Island as she was of Lyanna's Bay. Feeling good for what seemed to the first time in days they finally reached the hall. Cadets from all ages and backgrounds would gather here. Though it did remind her of the harvest feasts back home, there were different classes and levels if you looked at the tables. Instead of birth status it was of leaders and followers. You had the Reds and the Golds of course, the groups that openly supported Lady Ursa and Ser Steffon as the future Firelord. You had the Young Dragons; a rather large group who followed Takkar but were just as often found mingling with others when he was not around. The Blacks stood out if only because most if not all were the children of Narrow Sea Houses or if not from their respective domains. A few cliques of future cobblers, engineers and sailors were present but only two other groups stood out. First was the group of Acolytes who were devout servants of the Red God, all of which either were slaves or the children of freedmen. Something about their attitude rubbed her the wrong way but individually she could admit they were like everyone else. As for the final group the Greens….

"Nieces, come sit with us!." Smiling she waved back and joined the table of young cadets with her favorite aunt patting their open spots. Lyanna had come to Dragonstone half a year before her and had quickly gained a following. Smart, charismatic and possessing something father called "presence" it did not take long for her to rise in the class rankings. She may not have been a bender or have Fire Nation blood but word had gotten out the women of Bear Island did not dilute the flame one bit. The group of boys and girls around her no doubt expected to follow her into whatever holdfast or position her namesake came up with. Bear Island and Lyanna's Bay were by no means rich but they were what Lady Mai referred to as a land of opportunity for the Fire Nation. The Mormonts could be the new Manderlys, though much much slimmer. And with a much cooler sigil, and better looking, less Andal too.

"Hello Aunt Lyanna, how are you?" She chuckled at the looks of a few of the cadets, her mother was pregnant with her and Azula while her grandmother was carrying her last child. They even shared the same nursery for a while. A few of their aura's flickered and she wondered if some of them thought their family barbaric, really her namesake simply found a man she fancied who cared not for age. Probably did not help Lyanna treated them as siblings in all but name.

"Good, good I was telling them of the Battle of Long Lake."

"When our great-great grandfather fought against Raymun Redbeard?" Tales of wildlings were common on Bear Island, after the Umbers and the Mountain Clans they fought with them the most often. The tides from the Bay of Ice meant even the flimsiest vessel would eventually find their way to Mormont Keep eventually.

"Aye he took down a dozen wildlings himself before the Umbers took the rest in the rear."

Rina looked skeptical, "Lady Maege did he really say to his men _here we stand for the North_ as the wildlings charged?" Lyanna must be more popular than she thought, Rina's family was well off within Dragonstone. Her eldest sister Tima was even the official historian of the Fire Nation and wrote many of textbooks with the academy. To choose to sit beside her when so many of the purebloods avoided them said a lot of House Mormont's place in the future.

"He did though that part is not as impressive as it sounds. Wildlings are often numerous but undisciplined, a small group of trained warriors can rout them if they choose a good spot. Its much the same for Ironborn, the men and women of Bear Island learned long ago how to face these foes." Mother always used the two ancient enemies of the Mormonts in drills, always nagging to her about the importance of discipline.

"Oh come on Maege you're ruining the story!"

"I did not, Robett Mormont fought in a dozen battles and never wavered. In the days of Dagon Greyjoy he made Ironborn flee with just his presence! And the Ironborn of Dagon were not the pathetic jokes of Balon!"

"Or maybe they heard a bear growl and ran away." The ward, Margeary Tyrell giggled at her own joke while the other cadets broke into laughter.

"If you start singing a Bear and the Maiden Fair….." She covered her mouth to hide the smile as Azula jumped to her defence, everyone in Westeros from the Wall to Dorne made that joke to the Mormonts. Best to get in front of it as father would say. Just as quickly the laughter stopped as the group rose and placed their fists in their palms. Before she could do the same a bright star of a flame joined them from behind. It did not take a genius to realize who had arrived.

"Hello Lady Baratheon, how are you this day?"

"Wonderful Lady Mormont, I was just listening to your tale. It sounds so exciting, someday I wish to see the North myself. Mother speaks rather fondly of Winterfell in particular."

"What of your sister, she is a ward of the Starks is she not?"

"She…she speaks well of it but I gather she has more important duties than sightseeing. But enough about me, can I join you all for lunch?"

"If your feet are tired you can take my seat my lady."

"Oh its alright Lady Maege, while were in the academy I am just another student. Margaery did you get tosee the new flowers from Norvos?"

"They were beautiful Ty Lee, I worried they would not bloom."

"Wanting them for a certain someone?" The light mood returned as the Tyrell blushed as red as a Tully before the group returned to their fun. She mostly tuned it out as she found comfort in their auras, everyone was just a little different big or small. Even those without the warmth of the Fire Nation like her aunt still flicked the edge of her mind. Lyanna as confident as she appeared, Margaery a rose afraid of its' own thorns even as it bloomed. None however were like Lady Baratheon, her flame seemed to have something more, something she could not place. Come to think of it Chang had something similar but for the life of her she did not know what it was only that it seemed to be more prominent in the back of her mind.

"Lady Maege, I have to ask how does it feel to combust? Father speaks of one of my ancestors having the gift but otherwise his words are sparse. Xai Bau has several books but it is not the same as watching you."

"Well Rina it is rather difficult to….actually for the benders among us the first part of it is easy to explain. It all comes down to the spark, the inner flame we all have. Tell me how many of you have ever choked on the fire?" Confusion and the shaking of a dozen heads greeted to her to no surprise. "That is because our bodies were born with a form of internal protection to prevent us from cooking ourselves, at worst a sneeze will spit fire unexpectedly."

"Alright but combustion?"

"Combustion creates that spark outside of the body, where we push and grow the flame in the air without any of the body to fuel it further, hence why it disappears as quick as it is unleashed. You can guess the problem with that."

"The lack of natural protection, you mean it can…kill you?" Lyanna and Azula were horrified, as were a few of the students. The older ones knew it to be dangerous but the younger benders and the less experienced cadets only now appreciated the threat.

"Yes, all firebenders can do so but their own souls and skin are born with the instinct to avoid this at all costs. Commander Chang and Officer Bau both stressed to me this is for good reason, most do not have the discipline or will to wield such a power. Even many Firelords in history avoided the skill as the power of lightning is considered more reliable. The training is referred to as opening the third eye."

"Oh is that why you got the tattoo sister?"

"Yes, in my case I was born with my third eye already open. A rarity among even historic bloodlines but not unheard of either. It is why father sent me here a year or so ahead of schedule. It helps me focus and visualize what I already feel in my bones.

"Your tattoo is really pretty, who had it done?" She froze for a moment bewildered at the question. How could the daughter of the Firelord not know what she had? Despite wishing to tell her off her mother would be incensed if she insulted a Lady of House Baratheon over such a inane question.

"No, one of Xai Bau's students Cao Jie did the work. My mother had nothing to do with it I'm afraid. When a firebender learns combustion one finds it easier to have a point of the body to focus, even subconsciously. It was supposed to be white and red but I felt green and silver were more appropriate don't you think? I felt the the red, black and gold was a little overdone."

"Finally someone has the guts to say it!" Bewildered she turned to the blacks at another table, scandalized she did not realize they could hear her.

"I know right, would it kill Lord Stannis and Lady Azula to change things up a little. Wearing the house colors gets so boring after a while." She turned to hide her growing smirk at the debate and had to leave or explain the laughter at Rina fiercely defending the beauty of the Fire Nation. Before she could finally make her way to the stew Ty Lee caught up with her.

"I think the tattoo fits you perfectly."

"Excuse me my lady?

"You asked if it seemed more appropriate. I do, it matches your aura." Eyes wide open she started to truly pay attention to the young Baratheon.

"Your flame, like your sisters. You are both so proud of your family that I can practically feel the she-bear roaring. Father is the same, he rarely smiles but I can feel when his warmth even in silence. A mighty stag watching over his doe. Mother, mother is an inferno but her love is almost blinding when she is near."

"I thought my sister and I….we were the only ones."

"Well I could not always do it so clearly but were both of the First Men are we not?" She nodded, the blood of House Durrandon flowed into House Baratheon through Argella the Defiant. Come to think of it if not for a few Yi Tish features she recognized from the people in Lyanna's Bay she could be the spitting image of the picture she saw in books.

"Yes, yes we are. Do you think?"

"Maybe? Maybe it's a talent all firebenders have but they do not realize it? Lady Mai says my namesake could see people clearly but at the same time I know enough to realize she and mother never speak ill of their friend. I just know, I just feel and see how other's feel. When Maester Cresson spoke of the history of magic and spirits in Westeros the legends of the First Men seemed to make sense."

"We may not share the skin of others but we can see what lies beneath."

"Exactly, it's always why I wanted to talk to you. Your brave even when your scared….." Scratching her head awkwardly Ty Lee continued, "…..most of the cadets at the academy do not talk to me. And when they do I can feel their fear and uncertainty. It only got worse after I visited the tree of Officer Bau. But not you…I hope. I mean people are really nice to me but finding those who like me for me…well you understand." She was lonely and an outsider, just like her. Except she did not have bright home to go back to if things did not improve. Smiling she placed her hand in hers, she still may not like it here but at least she found a friend.


	40. (King's Landing) Cersei V

(King's Landing: 10/3/298 AC) Cersei V

"It's getting late sweet sister," her beloved stated. The setting sun reflected off of his radiantly white armor, making him appear ever more beautiful. "He may not show."

"He would be a fool to disregard a royal summon," she stated simply. "Besides, there is still an hour or so before the sun fully sets. If he keeps me waiting until nightfall, however, I don't care whose son he is, or what father thinks of him."

"With the way you had dismissed him, I am quite surprised that he yet remains within city walls," Jaime added.

"I am not. Even Loras would think twice of returning to father with news of failure. No matter how many times I dismiss him."

"Father's loyal dog," Jaime stated in a whimsical tone, reaching for a leaf within a nearby tree.

"Yes, but the situation has changed, my love. Now my dear husband has seen fit to negotiate giving Tommen, Tommen," she emphasized, "to his humorless brute of a brother and that favored whore of his that he takes for a wife!"

"A ward of Dragonstone?" he asked, oblivious to what outcome entailed.

"Ha! Not while I still draw breath!" The venom from her voice, flowed freely, it potency threatening to poison a kingdom.

Her lover gave her a look of utter confusion, the leaf he had been meddling with quickly forgotten. "What? It was a jest, when did this exchange transpire?"

She felt the hate creep into her eyes as she looked at him. It was not directed towards him, no, but it served to highlight her annoyance at his question. "During the feast, celebrating Stannis' brat!" she spat. "That drunken sow thought he could decide the fate of my children behind my back?! He will regret it!" In the midst of her anger, the thought of 'thanking' her spy, within the bitch's household, for this information remained unclouded. _'She proved far more useful than expected. I will squeeze more information out of her when time allows.'_

"Calm, sweet sister, calm," Jaime raised his hands towards her in a placating manner. The usual smile on his face giving way to one of concern.

"Don't you dare, Jaime Lannister! Don't you dare tell me to remain calm when the futures of my children are being decided by others! No one, especially not Robert, nor Stannis, or that smirking whore from Dragonstone, will take that away from me! I am their mother! I bore them, I love them, and they are mine! I, and I alone, will decide what is best for them!"

The outburst made Jaime unsure, so he remained rooted to his spot, standing awkwardly. The leaves continued with their quiet rustling, disrupting the uneasy silence between them. She moved towards a stone bench, nestled near a copse of trees, crossed her arms, and sat on the cold, flat, seat. A brief shiver overcame her, causing Jaime to start forward. She waved him off, not wanting him near at the moment. He seemed ready to reply to the dismissal, but she glared at him, and he held his tongue. Without warning, he reached for his sword, staring down the path they had come.

"Reveal yourself!" Jaime ordered hand at the ready, his blade peeking out from underneath its sheath. "It is unwise to skulk in the shadows before the Queen."

"Calm, Ser Jaime, calm," a familiar voice uttered smoothly, mimicking her lover's earlier placating words. "I am here, by royal summon."

A form came up the path, the sunlight that managed to penetrate the trees revealed a man armored in polished red and black steel. The chest plate held a golden lion clenching a jeweled flower in between its jaws, and she knew immediately who it was, without ever seeing his face. "Loras," she whispered, as he emerged from beneath the spotty shadows of the trees.

"Ser Loras!" Jaime shouted, a handsome grin lining his face. "About time, the Queen and I were getting worried you lost your way!"

"Apologies for the delay, your grace, Ser Jaime," the young, Tyrell, knight bowed, before nodding his head for her brother. His words sounded like silk, while his dull golden eyes peered into her soul, attempting to peel away at her. A tight smile formed on her face, blazing emerald eyes countering his golden pools. He relented his assault, and continued to speak, "I was waylaid by Ser Steffon and his Greyjoy compatriot. They spoke of my sister."

"Oh?" Jaime perked up at that, striding up to Ser Loras, his hand resting upon his sword hilt. "And how is the Lady Margaery?" Any news from Dragonstone interested him, and she did not understand why. This time, however, was not the time for indulging curiosities.

"Your sister does not concern me, _Blood Rose_ ," she spoke before Ser Loras had even had the time to formulate a response. "All that matters is the fate of my children."

"Of course, your grace, as I'm sure such a matter is also of import to the rest of the seven kingdoms," he replied, seemingly bereft of any interest in the conversation at hand, but she knew him better than that.

"Did I give you permission to speak, ser?" She took his silence as an acknowledgment, for she had neither the time nor the patience to draw this conversation out any longer than was necessary. _'Especially with him,'_ she thought. "Word has reached me of a plot by Robert, and his stubborn mule of a brother, to send Tommen to Dragonstone," she saw him twitch his eyebrow upward in seeming confusion. "Find something interesting, ser?"

"No, your grace," his normally stoic face looked somewhat stunned. "I would have thought that outcome to have been obvious, and inevitable, given Ser Steffon's exploits on the Stepstones."

"Of course it was," she replied, feeling foolish for having never seen it. _'Robert's eyes always lit up when Steffon's name was uttered. Doubly so after the Stepstones,'_ her memories flashed. _'It was obvious,'_ she cursed to herself. _'Of course, he would wish the same for my sons. With Joffrey unable to, due to his position as crown prince, Robert's eye would eventually shift towards Tommen. I should have seen it.'_

"It was news to me," Jaime quipped.

"All that time," she rose from her bench and began to pace, bringing her hand up to her mouth, gnawing at her thumb. "All that misery I've suffered living with him. His whoring and drinking. The embarrassment," she looked up towards Ser Loras, who remained still, passive and uncaring. His attention seemed drawn to a small rosebush. _'How quaint.'_

"Am I boring you, Ser Loras?" she questioned, her irritation growing at his nonchalant attitude. "You will show me the proper respect, Tyrell. My father cannot protect while you are in King's Landing."

"Apologies, your grace," he bowed again, this time it seemed genuine.

 _'Father cannot protect you in King's Landing,'_ the thought crept into her mind, as she glared at the Tyrell boy. _'But it would take a rather large amount of armed men to dispatch you,'_ she knew how dangerous her father's Tyrell ward was, even if she would never openly admit it. The wind wafted through the trees, carrying the empty scent of her father's ward. _'Even the smell of this shit infested city seemed to be afraid of marring his fair presence.'_

His head snapped back towards her, with a smile, and she hesitated briefly. _'A lioness does not fear the rose, no matter how bloody its thorns,'_ she reassured herself.

"Just admiring the roses," the young knight stated.

"If I could spare your attention, for the moment?" He nodded slightly in response.

"Good. I understand you have my father's ear? Unless, of course, your constant eloquently worded reminders, left me with the wrong impression?"

She saw him smirk at that, "No, you have the right of it, your grace."

 _'There is was again.'_

"At every utterance of 'your grace,' you seem to find humor in it. Why is that?" she questioned innocently, smiling as she did so. _'This upstart needs a reminder in who rules.'_

"You mistake my joyous tone for one of mockery, which I assure it is not. I am merely in awe at the titles and heights that your grace and the rest of my esteemed foster family, your family, has risen. It brings no small amount of joy to see you and yours prosper." His reply was smooth and sure and had she been anyone but Cersei Lannister, she might have fallen for it.

"My, you have quite the way with words, Ser Loras. However, I should warn you to curb your amusement at my expense, Tyrell," she chastised. "Lest you suffer the same fate as another amusing boy. The one who was found wandering into my family's vaults?" Her smile rose as his fell into a deep frown. The rustling of the leaves cascaded over them, throughout the canopy of the godswood within the Red Keep. "Terrible what father did to him," she grinned at the insolent knight, daring him to do something.

Jaime had come up behind her and whispered in her ear. "This is unwise."

Ignoring his warning, she continued, twisting the dagger deeper into Ser Loras' chest. _'You do not mock me, boy.'_ "Oh! Apologies, ser, I had forgotten how close you two had been. You and he spent much time together, yes?"

Ser Loras remained deathly still, face flat, and emotionless.

"Yes, I believe you did. 'The ward and the _thief_ ,'" she stated wistfully. "Who would have thought he was merely using you to get into the Rock and its magnificent vaults? I feel as if it should be made into a song. What say you, good ser? I could pay a bard to…"

"No," he stated in a voice barely above a whisper.

"'No,' what?" She relished watching his, admittedly handsome, form hesitate.

"No," he lingered slightly, before uttering the last, "your grace."

"Good, you see? Was that so hard?" _'You are the comrade of my brothers. With them, you can jest. You cannot with me.'_

He shook his head. The joy had left him.

"Now, back to our previous discussion. When you return to the Rock, with Myrcella, tell my father I did this out of spite to Robert. Not because he made me, or forced my hand. Tell him, I will not allow Robert to have even a small ounce of happiness or contentment. Also, since my brother had vouched for you, I would appreciate if you emphasize, to my father, my need for more Lannister household guards. Do you understand, ser?"

He nodded, crossing his arms. "How will you deal with the King's plan to have Tommen fostered on Dragonstone?"

"None of your concern, _Blood Rose_ ," she replied, returning to her stone seat. "I will set things in motion with the King," she had ideas, but none she would share aloud with an outsider. "In the meantime, you will serve as a member of my personal guard." With the rise of Stormlander and Dragonstone numbers within the ranks of the city watch, she needed every available sword. No matter how much she disliked him, and he, no doubt, disliked her, he would still prove useful, just in case.

"It would be my honor, your grace," he bowed once more, all mirth having dissipated from his voice. "When should I make preparations for departure?"

"You will know when," she stated. "Ser Loras? Would you kindly, wait by the entrance of the godswood, while my brother and I talk?" He seemed surprised. "What? Did you think I meant you would be part of my household guard tomorrow? Go."

"As you command, your grace," he pounded his fist against his chest, bowing his head in supplication, before marching off to the entrance of the godswood.

"You gave up Myrcella, rather easily sister," Jaime spoke in a cautious tone.

"Hmph," her eyes began to water. "Even just the thought of giving up Myrcella, the way I had been given away to Robert, sickened me. Speaking the words felt like I was tearing out my own heart!"

"Then why?" He moved closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She could not help from reaching for it with her own hand. "With father, I at least know Myrcella is relatively safe. With the bitch and Stannis, I cannot guarantee the same for Tommen. Especially if…" she trailed off, mind flooded with thoughts of the unthinkable.

"No," he reassured her, "it won't come to that. Not with that fool Stark bumbling aimlessly around in his investigations."

"I know," she nearly screamed. "What worries me is what that woman has planned for the two bastards she has on Dragonstone," for the first time her voice shook.

"I've dealt with all of them. All the ones in King's Landing, at least," she stated, knowing Jaime had his own reservations on those actions, but he knew it had been necessary. "Save for those two."

"The smith and the whore's daughter?"

The silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity. "I waited too long, Jaime. I should have struck before Jon Arryn had begun his ill-fated investigation, then we could have been spared this."

"What can she do with two bastards, sister? That isn't proof enough. Only a fool would think otherwise," Jaime stated. "Besides, if she wanted to use them as proof to tell Robert, she would have done so already, and in all likelihood, our heads would have long ago been rotting on spikes."

 _'He's right, she has had ample opportunity,'_ She kissed his hand, rising from her seat. "Let's go, my love, before our absence is noted and tongues begin to wag," together they set out in the sunset, towards the entrance of the godswood.


	41. (Dragonstone) Maege III

*The following chapter was written by reader sensfan90. Thank you sensfan90, for adding to this little world!

(Dragonstone 296) Maege III (by sensfan90)

The breeze from the Narrow Sea was a welcome change from the halls of Dragonstone. Out here with the vastness of the ocean she could imagine she was home again. The waves, the birds even the foul language from the sailors on the wind warmed her heart. Her eyes closed she soon focused on the flame, letting it fill her and leave her like a beat of the heart. Breathing was the beginning and the end of firebending and was never to be forgotten. Opening her eyes she heard the footsteps of a man approaching, smirking she knew only one family who loved this spot as much as she.

"It seems a mighty bear has arrived in preparation for my lunch. Laying an ambush for this poor man?" Chuckling she curtsied as the young knight of House Seaworth made his way to the small group of rocks she had chosen to mediate on. Breaking a piece off his loaf from his basket she sighed in contentment as the taste of the freshly baked bread filled her stomach. She always enjoyed time with the Seaworths, Lyanna's Bay was the probably the most common destination for the family of the Onion Knight beyond Dragonstone. Her father had even gifted them two vessels captured in the rebellion, though she could not remember if it was his idea or from Dragonstone. Mother just gave them ale, which they seemed to appreciate much more.

"Hello Ser Allard, how are you?"

"I am good Lady Mormont, enjoying the Dragonstone Academy?"

"I've met a few friends so far, still it's too damm humid."

"You have to the first person with Fire Nation blood I have ever met to complain about the heat." She shot him a look as he laughed a bit too loudly for her liking.

"I grew up along the Bay of Ice!"

"Believe me I know, I sailed with father more than a few times to Lyanna's Bay. Thought I'd lose a finger more than once. Beautiful though I can see why you'd love to live there. Unfortunately my future is in the south."

"Oh, how so?"

"I am to be married within the year." Clapping in delight she quickly got up and hugged the man, what wonderful news.

"Congratulations, how did this happen?"

"A couple of years ago the Firelord did the impossible and settled the disputes of Crackclaw Point."

"That's the land between the many keeps of Blackwater Bay and the Vale correct?"

"Yes milady indeed it is. Anyway like I said the Firelord managed to do what even most Dragon King's could not and forced them to quit bellyaching over land and taxes. She also to her and her husband's great anger discovered quite a few knights and lords were in violation of the King's law. My father was there for a few of the trials….."

"Did she?" Father had made it very clear the Firelord was ruthless to those who disobey, more than once her tales had caused a nightmare when she was young.

"Punished them swiftly and harshly, quite a few men were sent to the Wall and there sisters and daughters married to men sworn to Dragonstone. So you see several of these keeps have lacked a proper lord for some time. The Firelord and Lord Stannis has granted my father the former lands of House Pyne and House Hardy. I doubt he will ever spend much time there though."

"He likes the sea too much?" Shaking his head Allard smiled softly as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

"No, well yes that is true I suppose but mother has spent far too long on Dragonstone to move now. She has friends and colleagues she likes and my youngest brothers to worry about. Father instead gave my older brother Dale the lands of House Hardy and Pyne for myself. I gather he expects us to see my younger brothers in the future as landed knights." That was wonderful news, young men dreamed to become lords. Really though that is not what mattered.

"Well OK but whose the lucky woman?" A ghost of fear spread across his face, something she never saw father do when he spoke of the betrothal to mother. What was different with Ser Allard?

"A Dornish bastard, Nymeria Sand. I don't believe it but apparently she has Martell blood in her. Father says she is quite beautiful but I am a little worried. My father has only been a knight for a generation and yet some famous Dornish house seeks my hand? I worry there is going to be a catch. Maybe she killed another betrothed or caused a scene with her trueborn family." She frowned as she could see him shudder at the thought of such a troublesome match.

"Well she is a bastard, perhaps this was the best marriage she could get? I mean even in the North a bastard of Barrowtown or Winterfell rarely received more than dowry and some apprenticeship."

"It is possible I suppose, from what I understand she is the second daughter of second son. If the eldest child has heirs already she could be another mouth to feed in the future. And really it is not like I am being granted Stokeworth or Rosby; just a keep, some coastline and a small forest. You're probably right about their reasons. Still my gut tells me something else and years at sea tell me to listen."

"Maybe it's a favor for someone? I mean mother and father love each other but even I know they married so that the people of the Fire Nation could settle the land. Spices, coin, information even….what was the word they used when they talked about politics...oh that's it bribery?"

"Bribery? I suppose, perhaps her father did my father a great service and is now calling in the gold stag?"

"Perhaps they wish to work with the Firelord, I mean you and father have said Ser Davos is one of her most important vassals."

"One of the most _trusted_ Lady Maege, not most _important_. It is a big difference in life and one you will have learn in the future. My father proved himself to House Baratheon of Dragonstone and was rewarded for his efforts. Though come to think of it Lady Azula may be rewarding my father in her own way. If he was good enough for her then his son should be good enough for a nobleman's bastard."

"Well Ty Lee says her mother loves to play games, I guess that includes politics."

"I suppose, now enough about me how are things in the academy?"

"The Scorching Bear Academy was more fun, we learned a lot of the same things there too. The feeling of the students and the classes are all different."

"Stricter I take it?"

"Un-huh, Azula absolutely wanted to sail away after the first week, it was a rude awakening for the both of us. Unfortunately mother and father made it very clear we will be here for a while do a few things we have to learn. Aunt Lyanna and her friends have made it easier, and Rina I suppose has helped me with some of the homework."

"Rina…Rina oh that the daughter of the historian?"

"Yeah she's really smart and a better fighter then me too. I mean she is really nice but mother warned me about someone like her. It makes things hard."

"Warned you about….oh she is the youngest child isn't she?"

"Exactly, mom told me to be careful when I was in Dragonstone, people will act like my friend in the hope of getting good jobs in the future. I mean I could be imagining things, perhaps she wants an excuse to avoid Takkar. He likes to befriend strong benders and students a little too much."

"How so?"

"His group the young dragons has a lot of really good students, especially benders. But I wonder how many are really his friends, I mean I barely see any of them hanging out when class has ended. Compared to the other groups…." Turning she looked at him for a moment, he nodded clearly knowing about the various cliques.

"Compared to the others they don't seem to actually like him. They like the idea of what he is doing but not who is he."

"Do you actually know him that much, I mean you sound like you really get annoyed by the guy just walking around."

"I don't dislike him, he just reminds of how mother talked about Uncle Jorah."

"Wait, the slaver?

" _Yes."_ She did not even bother hiding the venom in her voice, slavery was one of the oldest taboos in the North and an affront to the Old Gods. Grandmother screamed for days on end when she heard what her nephew had been hiding and mother barely left her chambers for several days until she explained what happened.

"What did he do for you to think that? My younger siblings say he's a rather pleasant fellow. Comparing him to a slaver is pretty brutal milady."

"Oh he is pleasant enough to talk and it is not like he lacks the skill he boasts. What bothers me is he does not seem to take loss well or accept when someone or something is beyond him. When we sparred he gave his father a scathing look when he failed."

"Frustration making someone angry is a pretty normal reaction."

"Well obviously but it I've sat with my mother as she goes through the daily meetings with the people of Lyanna's Bay. I hated it but mother was insistent any lady had to understand her people. And all I learned were people were whiny and annoying about everything and screwed up all the time. Uncle Jorah never accepted he was too poor and isolated to please his greedy southern wife. Takkar is an excellent fighter in the classroom but he acts like he fought in the Stepstones like Ser Steffon. He just pretends to be more than he is and it feels weird."

"He has yet to be given that chance, perhaps he will prove himself." Before she could grumble some more she heard the bells ring.

"Oh damm it I am going to be late. Thanks for the bread Ser Allard, can't wait to see you at the wedding!"

"Wait, since when were you invited?"

 **…**

Tactics were always so tedious in the academy. The Fire Nation took battle and war extremely seriously and left absolutely no room for incompetence. Unfortunately it also meant stating the obvious. "Lady Mormont as I am sure you already know what is the greatest danger in combat?"

"Losing sight of your enemy in the midst of battle."

"Such as?"

"A wildling with a broken antler is just as deadly as valyrian steel if you do not see the strike coming."

"Excellently said…"

"But we have firebending, we can have them burnt to a crisp if they so much try and touch us." Steeling herself she did not need the extra sight of Chi Ha's spark igniting to understand the look on her face. Haruto had just made the next few moments of life as terrible as the seven hells.

"Really Cadet Haruto, let us test that theory shall we?" Dumbly the Cadet found himself with his back turned towards the Lieutenant, utterly helpless. It was obvious to anyone that by the time she moved to strike it was too late to respond. Once, twice and finally a third time Haruto was slammed to the ground. Before he got up the Lieutenant took his hand and _twisted._

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH, my hand….what did you do?"

"In battle you would have died three times over, effortlessly against some barbarian beyond the Wall. I know everyone in this class feels special, that they are better than normal men and women. Get it through your heads to be a firebender is to be granted a sacred gift not to think oneself a god or goddess. As for the hand Cadet Haruto insubordination is not tolerated in the Fire Nation, do I make myself clear?"

Tears filling his eyes he nodded vigorously, "Good now get to the dammed healer to have that set." The room was rather somber after that, even some of the cadets approaching graduation were on edge. The Lieutenant smoldered at everyone who wasn't close to what she thought was acceptable and even some of those that were. She squirmed as she finally made her way to where her flames slowly died, she knew they were lacking.

"Cadet Mormont, I see you are having trouble with the heat of your flame. May I ask why? Your work in combustion has been impressive, the intensity of your flame should be a minor inconvenience in comparison."

"I don't' know Lieutenant Chi-Ha, the feeling isn't quite there. My breathing is fine and I can feel the spark grow but the flow just feels wrong to me."

"I find that hard to believe, Commander Chang assures me you could sink a longship with barely a thought."

"What he really said that? I mean well yes I suppose if I had to but thats different! Combustion is all technique, no emotion, no feeling. But my fire has always been from me, something about today has it suffering." Stiffening she felt the strong arm of her instructor on her shoulder, slowly she turned to look at her face. She had an uncharacteristic look of pity on her scarred features, which made it all the more frightening.

"Ah, you must mean Haruto and his injury. You do not like inflicting pain on others do you?"

"No ma'am."

"Understandable but something you will have to overcome. Feeling empathy is fine, even honorable in the right moment but it is not the same as being merciful. On my first deployment I failed and hesitated to end a young girl with a knife, it was all the time it took for this to happen." Oh so quickly her scar seemed more prominent, more hideous and her treatment of Haruto far less sadistic. She cared for her students in her own way. The sheer ferocity of the fire she saw when her classmate had made such a stupid comment now seeming a smooth comforting warmth as she walked away. A part of her felt ashamed, she had misjudged her instructor harshly.

"Lady Mormont, would you care to spar? One of the Chi Ha's sergeants has volunteered to referee." Ty Lee clad in her uniform approached with a broad smile on her face. Ever since their meeting in the cafeteria weeks ago she had made an effort to spend time with her. Though she seemed flighty at times there was no doubt who her parents were when you looked at her. Even at the young age the Baratheon height was already apparent compared to her peers, especially given the Fire Nation were shorter than Westerosi to being with.

"Of course Lady Baratheon, Ember or Sun rules?"

"Sun rules silly, Lieutenant Chi Ha would have us doing chores for months if we tried that. Not to mention my mother would have a fit if she heard!" She turned to hide her laughter at the remark, it was the opposite in Scorching Bear Academy. Ember rules meant the first one to burn the clothing of an opponent. Such an occurrence happened all the time among firebending with most decent practitioners able to snuff it out without even looking. Given the number of teachers compared to the number students back home it was easy to prevent accidents. Well besides the obvious rules of no shots to the face or back. Sun rules on the other hand were the first to make the other sputter with their flame, so called from the understanding in battle the last thing an opponent would see was a mighty ball of fire blinding their vision. Between friends and students it just meant having to use your own flame to cancel out another or deflect from harm. Much safer as the tactics were more conservative by nature. They bowed and took their stances, smirking she noticed they both took the same form. Each grew silent and still as the sergeant took his place and clapped.

"Huah!" Flames burst and danced between them immediately, both aiming low to disrupt each other's footwork. Quickly she began jutting side to side hoping to have Ty Lee overextend herself. Unfortunately she merely kept her distance forcing her to take initiative. Cackling a bit at the strategy she began pushing her fire into the air forcing Ty Lee to improvise her dodging or lose by default. The look of panic on her face told her she might even win if the young stag was off with her timing. Only at the last moment did she propel herself to the side with a deep burst of fire to the left. They kept at it for a few more minutes before the field tilted more and more in her favor. Fighting Lady Baratheon was weird, she was so good but so terrible at the same time! Her form was flawless and she could swear her flames had a blue tinge…yet everything was easy to see. Her breathing, her footwork even her eyes gave everything away. As they continued to move and dance through the flames it finally made sense, people had been going easy on her. Or perhaps after what Ursa did to Chang people feared what she was capable of if pushed too far. Either way it was clear the youngest daughter did not have the same tutelage as the first.

"Gotcha!" It was over in an instant, a small burst as she dodged came too close for comfort, on instinct the fiery Baratheon blew a stream to force it away. Grinning she bowed deeply in appreciation, Ty Lee was drenched in sweat but smiling all the same.

"Ugh mom is not going to be happy when she hears about this. I knew what was coming but I was too tired to move."

"You shouldn't have let me take imitative so quickly, you also gave away a lot of your moves ahead of time. How often do you spar with other students?"

"With other students? Not often, usually just my tutors and the class teachers." It made sense, elder benders would be worried far more over technique than prowess. Also it really was not much of a secret Lady Mai and Lady Azula dotted on the youngest doe, they probably allowed a great deal more freedom than her older siblings. The benefit of being the spare apparently remained the same in the Fire Nation.

"Well if you want to become top of the class you will have to get better at predicting your opponents. Try with my sister Azula next time, you're a much better bender but she does have a lot of friends back home to train with. She is pretty good at adapting when she actually takes time to focus."

"That would be lovely but it will be a bit before we have time. Exams are coming up and I will not disappoint mother and father."

"Ugh don't remind me."


	42. (Castle Black) Viserys II

(The Wall: Castle Black 10/3/298 AC) Viserys II

" _Ser Brynden Rivers, called "Lord Bloodraven", was a legitimized Great Bastard of Aegon IV Targaryen and Melissa Blackwood, the king's sixth mistress. Brynden's personal arms were a white dragon with red eyes breathing red flame on a black field…._ " For the hundredth time, within the soft glow of candlelight, he read the history of the man in the tree. He rubbed his eyes as they had begun to glaze over, drinking deep from his nearby cup of ale. In an attempt to divine what had transpired in that cave, he found himself staring at the same words over and over again. _"…believed to be a sorcerer, he…"_

"And what is it that couldn't wait until morning, grandnephew?" The sudden voice of his granduncle, Maester Aemon, had startled him, nearly causing him to fall from his seat in the back corner of the library.

"Maester Aemon, you move like a ghost…" he stated, letting out a brief chuckle of relief.

"The creaking always bothered me when I would read," a wistful expression came over the aged maester, "So many moons ago now." Aemon turned, and made his way to a nearby seat, across from his own. "So I take care to mind my steps, so as not to disturb those who enjoy the comfort of reading, like that Dragonstone boy."

He began to rise, "Let me help you."

"Oh, no need. I know my way around this library, better than any other place in Castle Black. Thousands of books and no eyes to read them. Old age is a wonderful source of ironies," his granduncle grunted slightly, sitting down on the wooden chair, near his table.

"How did you know," the words escaped his mouth as an afterthought, as he placed a lit lantern between them.

"That it was you?" he questioned, a sly smile lining his aged features. "Who else, but Viserys Targaryen, would be wasting candles to read in the middle of the night? You've only left this library to sleep, ever since your return," he smiled. "But you didn't answer my question. What are you reading?"

"Bloodraven," he replied, partially ashamed of being caught reading the same thing, yet again.

"Ah! Ser Brynden Rivers, former lord commander of the Night's Watch," Maester Aemon, clarified. "I knew him when I was young. He accompanied me here along with several others."

"I know, granduncle," a thought sparked in his mind. "Maester Aemon, what do you remember of your conversations with him? What would he speak of?"

"He and I spoke on many things, Viserys," the chair creaked. "But it sounds like you wished to speak of something in particular? Hmmm?"

"Well," he hesitated, unsure if what he had seen would be accepted as anything but madness. He looked towards one of his last remaining relatives, as the old maester leaned in, awaiting the rest of his words. "What would..." he looked around the library, confirming that only Aemon and he were alone within. "What would he have thought of the stories of the Children of the Forest? Of the Others?"

"Ah," Aemon remained silent as if he had begun to gather his thoughts on the matter. "For a long time, he thought nothing of them. I knew the stories about him, but he seemed to be a regular man. He did not take the myths and tales of the Others and the Children, to heart. Until the few weeks before his disappearance. He came to the library as you did, he read, and he asked me the same question, only in regards to what I thought of those stories."

"What did you tell him?"

"The same that I will tell you. I am not closed to the possibility of their existence," he stated quietly. "Myths do not emerge from nothing, Viserys. However, I am also a man of reason, and men of reason require proof. Years spent training at the Citadel, has made me more than skeptical of such things."

"So if I told you I saw the Children, and Ser Brynden, who spoke of the Others," as the words left him, he felt something wash over him, whether it was embarrassment, madness, or relief, he did not know. "You would think me mad?"

"No! Never! That legend has stained our family long enough," though blind, the fire in the maester's eyes grew fearsome. "You, like Ser Brynden, came to speak with another on the matter. Madmen do not seek the opinions of others. But I will say if you choose to act on what you may have seen, proceed with caution. I will not deny what you think you have seen, but neither can I support you, not in this. In everything else, you have what little support an old man can offer his family, but not this."

"Can you offer me no guidance?"

Aemon's eyes softened, the silence stretching longer than it seemed. He sighed, "What did Ser Brynden wish you to do?"

"Warn the realm, warn the woman who holds Dragonstone," his heart seized, anger bubbling up inside. The memory of that night, when the woman had destroyed Ser Willem's ship, churned in his mind. He felt a hand pat his own and saw maester Aemon gazing at nothing, a look of concern on his face.

"I know what she did to you, Viserys. It serves no one to hold onto that anger," he stated softly.

Viserys knew of how Aemon had felt after hearing news of the death of their family, and he knew Aemon spoke from a place similar to his own. The anger still resided within him, but the fire in his heart died down. He nodded to his granduncle, "Apologies, maester."

"There is no need for apology, Viserys," he removed his hand and leaned back in his chair. "It is an odd request. Why would Ser Brynden wish her to be warned, and not the King? Surely he would be in more of a position to help in whatever Brynden thinks is coming?"

"The woman and her people, they have a power…" his words lingered in the air, uncertainty clouding his mind. He looked towards his granduncle who sat in rapt attention.

"What kind of power?" Aemon questioned, the chair creaking with the slight shift of his body.

"Fire, and Lightning," he replied simply, flexing his hands in a failed attempt to alleviate his dread. Guilt gripped him as he chose to withhold the parts about Azula's people and their apparent ability to enter the place 'where the gods roam.' However, he only did so because he did not know how to explain that part of Bloodraven's warnings, to maester Aemon. "That night," the words caught in his throat, the fear growing in his chest.

" _You saw nothing,"_ a velvet voice whispered.

"When the woman took Dragonstone, I saw…" the terror from his childhood conflicted with his duty to defend the realm. They warred within him, circling each other, a black dragon and its blue nemesis. He steeled himself, reciting the oath he had spoken all those years ago, _"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death."_

" _Why are we here?"_

" _I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory."_

" _To keep you, and your family, safe, my prince."_

" _I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men."_

" _We will survive this."_

" _I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."_

" _Ser Willem!"_

"I saw them wield flames as easily as one would wield a sword, or throw their fists. Even in the pouring rain, their flames struck true. But more than that, the woman wielded the power of the Storm-god. Lightning shot forth from her fingertips. Her _fingertips_ , granduncle!" He emphasized the statement, trying to draw a response from the aging maester, who held a look of intense curiosity. The lackluster reply caused him to continue with his recollections, contented with the realization that his granduncle would reply when ready. "Many ships were lost, and the knights charged with my protection betrayed me. I saw their fear, their greed, and their desperation," he stated, the rage bubbling up within him, demanding to be set free. It was a demand that he would not give in to, not in front of Aemon.

"Desperation is a fickle mistress, Viserys Targaryen. Equally capable of changing commoners into knights, and noblemen into monsters." The old dragon replied. "What fate befell these men?"

"The Lady Azula thanked them for surrendering me," he continued. "She promised them mercy, and had the scarred woman escort them down into the bowels of her Iron ship before she turned her attentions to 'the Firewing,' …" his voice trailed off, only to be brought back by the soft creaking of Aemon shifting in his seat. "I never saw them again. Not during our voyage to King's Landing, nor my journey north, up to the Wall, with Ser Rodrik. I can only surmise she had them killed," his father's voice and cruel laughter echoed in the deepest recesses of his mind, as he reached over towards his flagon of ale to pour himself another cup.

" _Traitors! All of them! Hahahahaha!"_

"So it would appear that the tales of butchery may not be _just_ tales?"

"It would seem so," he answered simply, drinking deep from his cup. "I know not how the battle for the castle went, save for that it was taken quickly. Those at the docks surrendered without a fight. No doubt realizing the futility of resistance after bearing witness to the power of 'the Ozai,'" he clasped his hands around his cup, lifting it to his mouth. "Those traitors, they killed the few still loyal to our family," he muttered before draining his cup of ale. "Then came upon the Iron ship, and all but threw me at her feet," he released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. "She wasn't an intimidating woman to behold, now that I look back on it, granduncle," he chuckled darkly. "If one ignored all the lives she had destroyed that day, that is. The short stature, stern face, and full belly would have been humorous, were it not for the expression in her eyes."

"'A black pit of malice surrounded by molten gold,' or so I've heard," Aemon stated, hands hidden underneath voluminous black sleeves. "The Ironborn in our ranks have a tendency to exaggerate," he shrugged.

"It is no exaggeration, granduncle," he warned gently, passing his thumb around the mouth of his empty cup. A brief moment of hesitation passed over him before he spoke, "Ser Brynden also told me of my sister…"

The silence grew thick, as Aemon's voice caught in his throat. "Another Targaryen?" he finally asked, tilting his heads towards him, eyes focused towards a dark corner of the library. "Where?"

"I don't know, Essos most likely. Bloodraven said she was across the sea, in the hands of…a distasteful man," he had suspected, perhaps even known what that meant in the cave, but even now he still refused to believe it. "She would be four and ten now," he whispered.

"A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. So young, and with no family to guide her or protect her from the horrors of the world," Aemon sighed, his voice shaking. "What a cruel fate," Aemon rubbed his hands, "being so old and frail. But not you…"

"And what can I do? Brynden gave me no counsel on how to proceed in warning the woman or her son," Viserys questioned, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "He seemed to believe Ser Steffon would be the one to help my sister, Daenerys."

"Daenerys?"

He looked towards his granduncle, "It was what Bloodraven had said her name would have been at one time. But I did not understand what he had meant on that, nor did he elaborate. I know not how to contact Ser Steffon in a timely manner. Last I heard, he was in King's Landing, but afterward? He'll disappear into the wind, and tour the Stormlands, yet again. Even if a raven were sent, and did not die or get lost, how long? Weeks? Months?"

"You could inform the Dragonstone boy, or his guards. They may have a better chance at contacting the Lady Azula, and Ser Steffon," Aemon suggested.

"Sho Yu? Possibly, but what would I tell him, or them, for that matter? Had I a child of the forest with me, I could have had a much simpler time persuading others about what I saw and what I was warned of. Instead, the children left me and the others in a foul smelling tent, then disappeared. Not once, on our journey back, did we encounter these supposed 'Others' or their undead minions. Not that I would have wished to, but it would've made things easier." He rose from his seat and came to the fireplace, staring deep into the low flame. "Without that, even if I convinced them to relay my letter, what could I even put in that letter that would not sound like utter insanity?"

" _A hundred and twenty-five-year-old tree man, long thought dead, and surrounded by children of the forest warned me of ice demons from myths near forgotten. Also, tell the Lady Azula an ancient ice god of death is after her child."_

He let out a long sigh and returned to his seat near Aemon. "The Lady Azula may believe the last, but I would need to tell her directly. No letter would suffice. What am I to do, Aemon? I cannot go to King's Landing. Seven hells, even a mere rumor of me going there would be a death sentence. King Robert would have me executed on the spot," he slumped his shoulders. "Nor could I approach the Lady of Dragonstone, with this. Even if she believed me about her youngest, she is not known for being 'understanding.' She would, in all likelihood, turn me over, to the King, for a summary execution." He cast a glance towards his granduncle, "You know as well as I do, if I step foot outside these walls, even on official business for the watch, King Robert _will_ find some way to have my head." He reached for his flagon of ale to pour more into his cup, before being stopped by Aemon.

"I think you have had enough, Viserys," he stated softly. Aemon's eyes stared at nothing, yet somehow he knew where to rest his hand to prevent him from pouring himself more ale.

"Hmph," he chuckled, before massaging his temples. "I won't fight you for a cup of ale, Aemon. I'll lose."

"And don't you forget it," he removed his hand from the flagon of ale. The links of his maester's chain rattled slightly with his movement.

He studied the links, remembering the stories Aemon would tell of how he earned them. _'Many years of work. Almost a lifetime of work.'_ His granduncle was on in years and as much as he hated to admit it, before long the watch would need a new maester. "Hmm, what did you do to become maester of the Night's Watch? Would I be able to do the same?"

"Become a maester? Why would want such a thing?"

"Perhaps I can find someone in the Citadel who can speak on my behalf?" The chair groaned as he leaned forward. "Without proof, I would need someone of note to support me. Do you think it possible someone from the citadel would believe me? I need only one to at least make this task be somewhat less than impossible."

"Well, there is an archmaester who may accept your warnings, but he is known for being…unorthodox and somewhat eccentric." Aemon remained silent for some time, before speaking again, "I must confer with the Lord Commander, and the citadel, on this. Give me time, Viserys."

"Thank you, granduncle."


	43. (Winterfell) Arya II

(Winterfell: 10/4/298 AC) Arya II

* * *

She stood in the middle of a large sparsely furnished, cold room, with unlit torches placed evenly against the walls. The windows were crystal clear, cleaner than she thought they could get, allowing sunlight to enter into the tidy space, and illuminating the tapestries lining the walls. _'The guest house?'_

"Hello?!" she shouted, scanning the room. A small fireplace near the center wall at the left end of the room was crackling its last flames. Somewhere, in the distance, she heard a bird's squawk. Above the fireplace was a large tapestry, vividly colored, depicting a seemingly random assortment of animals surrounding a large many-eyed creature, with six thick legs, and a massive gaping maw. As she grew nearer to the elaborate wall-hanging, she saw a crowned stag with burning antlers charging the mysterious creature head on. A three-headed dragon stood on the back of the creature, one head biting at its back and another breathing flames upon a large Kraken that entangled the Dragon's third head within its great tentacles. Ensnared alongside the dragon were a roaring lion, a snarling wolf, and the monstrous creature's leg.

"What is this?" she questioned, running her fingers along the tapestry. "This isn't in the guest house." Tracing the form of the sea beast, her hand lingered on the wolf while it was engaged in battle with the lion, a smaller uncrowned stag charged the lion from behind. The wind whistled against the walls, shaking the building, and rattling the windows before throwing one open. It beat against the frame for several moments, before a crow perched on the window's sill, staring at her with three eyes.

' _CAW!'_

The gaze of the strange black bird remained fixed on her, watching her closing the gap between them.

' _CAW!'_ It sounded once more, before flying off.

The window opened up to face the end of the courtyard, nearest to the armory. Her eyes refused to believe what she was seeing. The architecture of the surrounding buildings was different, not like the Winterfell she knew. It was cleaner, and more organized, with stone pathways leading to and fro.

' _THUNK!'_

' _Those sound like blunted training swords,'_ she tried peering around the side of the guest house but was obstructed by a strange building, one made of wood and stone, similar to the buildings in Ursa's books. She climbed out of the window, landing oddly, and dirtying her breeches. Patting them off, she rushed along the flat stone path towards the sounds of battle, passing several people she had never seen before, some with Yi-Tish features, most without. They all seemed to ignore her when she approached the small crowd gathered around the stone courtyard. The only one known to her was Walder, the large stable-boy, who was off to the far side of the courtyard holding a little black haired girl above his head.

"Hodor…" a light voice drifted upon the wind, as Arya stared at the large man.

"Hodor?" she questioned. A memory tugged at her, but it seemed to be lost like a child in heavy fog.

"You move like a newborn babe, little brother of mine," she turned her head, hearing a woman chuckle between labored breaths while circling her sinewy, armored, opponent. Both looked to be the same age as her parents, and they felt and looked familiar. "Judging by your performance, am I right to assume that the King sent you back north because you're useless?"

"Ah, crass as always, big sister," a head of thick, reddish-brown hair, cut short, with deep blue eyes stared back at the woman with gray eyes, short dark hair, and a long stern face.

' _Aunt Lyanna?'_ she found herself thinking, remembering how her father had described her. _'Father never said she sparred, but these buildings, they were not here when father was young.'_

' _CAW!'_ a crow called, but try as she might, she found that it was nowhere to be seen.

"Can't a man come visit family?" The man lunged forward, swiping at dark haired woman's feet, a smile on his clean shaven face.

"Family?" She grinned, "You must be mistaken. Your time with your southern family has made you slow and soft. Northerners are a rugged, hard, people," she gripped her blunted steel, training sword, feinted right, then left, before swinging high.

"Haha! Try better, next time," the man ducked, narrowly avoiding the woman's sudden slash, smiling as he did so. "Better. I do find it somewhat surprising that you are here," the man struck forward, followed by a series of quick slashes, all met nothing but empty air or blunted steel.

"Why is that?" the woman asked, crouching low.

"I would have thought you to have accompanied brother's wife to the Stepstones? Unfinished business and all," The auburn haired man stated, lifting his training shield slightly before launching a sudden low swing.

' _Brother? Uncle Brandon? But he looked like a Stark, all of father's siblings did. So this can't be father or uncle Benjen,'_ she questioned herself. _'Who are these people?'_

' _CAW!'_

The woman moved her feet, dodging the low swing, dark gray cloak billowing in the wind. "Meh, it's unfinished business for her, not me. She seemed far too eager, and I did not wish to intrude," she replied, the woman's feet paced lightly beneath her. "Besides, I have a school to administer, you understand? The Winter Academy can't run itself."

' _Winter Academy?!'_ she thought, following the woman's lithe form with her eyes, watching her movements as she danced across the dueling square.

"Yes, yes. Still haven't grown tired of rubbing that in my face have you?"

"Not in the slightest," the woman smiled, aiming a horizontal slash at the man, which he expertly riposted.

"Those last vestiges of desperate pirates truly signed their own death warrants, didn't they?" the man stated. "I imagine this is the final time the Stepstones will be allowed to remain under pirate control. I am certain the King has plans to see the Stepstones turned into several colonies, complete with shipyards to police the waters of the Narrow Sea, and decrease the dangers of trade with the colonies on the Summer Isles."

"Is that so? Won't the three cities object?" The woman asked, as her light, black leather armor shimmered in the sunlight.

"Without a doubt," he replied, striking to the woman's side, hitting the broad side of her training sword, "but the King is not known for letting such slights go unanswered. The Prince has gone to negotiate with them. Perhaps a marriage offer?"

"Why does the fate of the Stepstones interest you?"

' _CAW!'_

"The Prince told me that I may be considered for Master of Infrastructure once Lord Royce steps down," the man seemed elated at the prospect of advancement. "If the position of Colonial Administrator becomes available after the campaign, then I would wish to hold it to gain some experience. Overseeing the building of a few roads, just isn't enough, not for the King at any rate."

"Too true," the woman replied. "Say what you will of goodsister's father, but he surrounds himself with able men and woman who know what they are doing."

"Like our goodsister, herself," the man tilted his head in the woman's direction. "She did well, choosing you to oversee the academy."

"I think so too, though Mormont seems to think her batch of students is superior. We'll see about that at the next tournament," her weapon struck out against the man's shield.

Arya found her attention drawn to the opposite end of the dueling square, and spotted a familiar looking red haired boy, staring at the fight as she had. "Bran?!"

He looked at her, "Arya?!"

They ran to each other, their first words asking the same question, "How is it that you can see me?"

' _CAW!'_

"I don't know, where are we? Who are these people?" the asked each other in a panicked frenzy as the winds picked up and swallowed the entire area in snow, before settling back down, and revealing a black sky with hundreds of dead things surrounding two figures standing at the center square where the man and woman had dueled. A very familiar woman stood at the center this time, the Lady Azula, a single burning torch lay off to the side, the only light in the darkness. Dozens of bright starry blue eyes stared out from beyond the shadowy veil surrounding them. Both of them remained paralyzed in fear, as the creature standing opposite of the Lady Azula walked towards her, its movements were graceful, silent, armor mirroring its surroundings, and icy blue blade reflecting the slowly dying torchlight. Her heroine shakily wielded a sword that glimmered in the murky night, while her right arm hung limply at her side. She struck, a look of pure fury had seemed to overcome her, as she clumsily dove forward, her left leg had appeared to have given out from under her.

The creature slid through the Lady Azula's desperate strikes, catching the sword within its icy blade, before reaching over and taking hold of Azula's sword hand. It lifted her above its head before Ursa's mother spewed out blue flames from her mouth. The creature seemed annoyed, and stuck its clear blue sword through the woman's stomach, causing the flames to die out in an instant.

"Lady Azula!" both shouted, causing the blue eyes to stare at them both. The strange creature threw Azula's body aside, as if she had been mere rubbish, into the darkness where the dead things were. She heard crunching and tearing emerge from the blackness before it spat out the shimmering red sword her hero had wielded. A bloodied hand, with broken nails, and bits of deep red cloth, remained attached to it.

She felt herself shaking as the creature drew closer, surrounding them was the darkest night she had ever seen. As the mysterious creature reached out, its body turned black, bursting into a murder of crows. She shielded her eyes, and reached for Bran's hand and felt nothing, save for the puddle of water she found herself thrown into.

' _CAW!'_

Emerging from the water, she gasped for breath, coughing out a lungful of the stinging liquid. It was dark, and many men surrounded her, all wearing Bolton and Frey colors.

"King in the North! King in the North!" she heard the men chant.

Her attentions were drawn to a large man, opposite the group of chanting men, with a burned face. He was astride a horse, concealing a small form in his arms. She stared for a moment, before coming back to the gate with the chanting men. Out came a man with a large wolf head placed over his own, crimson streaks ran down the man's neck, some had spilled over his armor. The world around her rippled like someone had cast a pebble into a pond, and she found herself in the same place.

"Kingslayer! Kingslayer!" a different group of men shouted. Some still retained Bolton and Frey colors, while the majority bore Stark, Karstark, Umber, and Dragonstone colors. Out of the archway where the man with the wolf head had come, emerged seven forms on horseback with others following on foot.

"Robb! Ursa!" she shouted, happy to see them, even though they did not appear to see her. They rode at the forefront, with Brienne, Jun, Jon, Lord Karstark, and the Greatjon, following behind. Ghost and Greywind trotted alongside Robb and Jon. Ursa held a chain connected to the shackles a man, with soiled clothing, and a brown sack over his head was wearing. She tugged at it, causing the man to stumble forward.

"Hahaha!" the loud, hearty laughter, of Lord Karstark and the Greatjon, reached far and wide. Causing the others gathered to laugh as well.

' _CAW!'_ the crow had returned, perched above her, looking down with its strange three eyes.

' _CAW!' 'CAW!' 'CAW!' 'CAYA!' 'CARYA!' 'ARYA!'_

* * *

"Arya!" someone shouted and had started shaking her body. "Arya! Wake up! Ursa won't wait forever!"

She opened her eyes and found a single candle burning near her bedside. Jun's concerned eyes peering into hers. "I'm up," she groaned.

"Good! Took you long enough!" Jun smiled, reaching for the heavy curtains covering her window and pulling them away, revealing a night sky. "Mhmm. I suppose it would have worked better if there was any daylight yet," the small woman snorted, before looking to her. "I kept trying to wake you, but spirits help me, you sleep like a rock! Must have been an incredible dream!"

"It…" she yawned, rubbing her eyes, before drawing a blank. "I don't remember."

Jun brought up a small bowl of water and heated it with her hands. "Well, whatever, I'm sure it wasn't important. Hurry, wash your face, and get your uniform on. Ursa is waiting in the Great Hall, and she'll be none too pleased."

Jun reached for the folded uniform Arya always held at the ready and placed it at the foot of her bed. She rose out of bed and splashed a bit of warm water on her face. "Thank you for heating the water."

"No thanks necessary," Jun nodded her head energetically. "Well, see you there!" Jun threw open the door in a rush.

"Wait!"

"What?" her eyes grew larger, a bit of impatience seemed to be hidden within them. "I was sent to wake you up, not be late with you."

"Are you in a hurry because Jon is there?" she asked innocently, a slight smirk growing on her face.

"Maybe," Jun flashed a brilliantly white smile, before shooting out of the room and shutting the door behind her. A loud crash sounded out in the hall.

"She forgot about the stool, again," Arya giggled to herself.

As she entered the Great Hall, with Nymeria at her side, she found the usual people present; Ursa, Brienne, Jun, Jon, and Ser Rodrik, who seemed to enjoy breaking his fasts early.

"Good morning, Lady Arya!" Ser Rodrik bellowed from down the table.

"Good morning, Ser Rodrik," she beamed, hugging him, before rushing towards her small group of friends and family.

A plate of eggs and ham, with a warm roll, was set out for her. She devoured everything on her plate, picking at Jon's leftovers, while he tended to Jun's bruised shin with a handful of packed snow. "Who puts a stool there? Seriously!"

"That's the eighth time you've tripped over that stool, Jun," Brienne muttered, massaging her left temple. Arya slipped a slice of ham to Nymeria, who gobbled it down.

"I'm telling you, it follows me!" Jun defended herself, slamming her fist into her palm.

"I'm sure it does," Jon whispered, a small smile on his lips.

"You see!? He understands," the small woman replied, giving Jon a light peck on the cheek.

"Only one thing follows you Jun," Brienne stated. "Catastrophe," Ser Rodrik seemed to have been overhearing as he laughed, choking a bit on his food. "You see?! He understands!" Brienne gestured towards Winterfell's master-at-arms.

"That's enough, all of you," Ursa's low voice warned. "We have a busy morning today. Laps around Winterfell, until the sun rises, followed by sparring, and hunting in the Wolfswood," Azula's daughter looked towards them; Arya, Jun, Jon, and Brienne, a knowing expression in her eyes. "I trust you are ready?" Ursa asked, those golden eyes focused in on her brother.

"I am," Jon replied, holding Jun's hand.

"Good," she nodded. "The Lady Catelyn has given permission for you to be with us until midday, Arya. So take every opportunity you can to learn. After midday, we will all have lunch together," she stated, looking towards her. "Jun and I will join you for needlework with Septa Mordane, while Brienne and Jon continue sparring sessions. After needlework, we will meet with Maester Luwin for lessons on sums and houses. Are you all ready?"

They all bowed their heads, rising as one, and placing their used dishes neatly near the table by the kitchens. Together they exited the Great Hall, entering out into the cold night.


	44. (Dragonstone) Mai IV

(Dragonstone: 10/4/298 AC) Mai IV

The half drawn, woven shades, filtered the morning light and illuminated her desk just enough to read the contents of her reports, given to her by Clarysse Paege, a member of the Order of the Burning Tree. The thirteen-year-old girl, with dark brown hair, had previous been stationed at Castle Black, but several 'incidences' saw her return to Dragonstone, quieter, and timider than she had left. She and Azula had been incensed at the girl's experiences, and Azula made Lord Commander Mormont know of her displeasure and her expectations of punishment for the offenders.

"How dare they attack one of mine!?" she remembered Azula's rage and the sweltering heat of her audience chamber. "I will see their ashes dispersed into a damned gutter!"

 _'Had it not been for the Targaryen,'_ Mai shuddered at the thought. Clarysse Paege, like the others in Xai Bau's order, reported to one another, to allow faster, more discreet communication, then the information was disseminated to her, Stannis, Azula, or all of them, depending on the nature of the reports. Her ornamented chair creaked slightly, as she lifted Su Ai's missive, written in Fire Nation script, from the Stannis Fort. Another unopened report, from 'the Big Betha,' awaited just beneath the one she currently held.

 _"Initiate of the Order of the Burning Tree, and Communications Officer stationed at the Stannis Fort, Su Ai, to Fire Lord Azula of Dragonstone, Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, and the Lady Mai, Overseer of the Grand Academy, and the Agni Shipyard:_

 _Progress Report on Stannis Fort operations. Period 9-01-298 AC through 9-30-298 AC;_

 _We have, thus far, managed to recruit several sellsword companies to our cause, as per the Fire Lord's command."_

"Stannis will not be happy to hear that," Mai muttered to herself, pressing her finger against her sliding spectacles, remembering Stannis' dislike of sellswords.

 _"The Stormcrows and the Second Sons have both signed on to assist Commander Mormont in training our current stock of freedmen. The Golden Company has declined all generous offers for employment, while the others were far too barbaric, or too costly for what they offered. This decision was made in accordance with the Fire Lord's guidelines for hire."_

She nibbled on a warm sweet roll, and sipped at her tea, before rubbing her fingers together, ridding them of stray crumbs. Down below, in the courtyard of the Administration complex, she heard the sounds of uniform footfalls. Turning to glance out of her window, she heard Chi-Ha shout.

"How many times have we done these cadets?"

"Ma'am, not enough, ma'am!" her trainees replied. Even at this distance, Mai could still make out Margaery's soft brown curls, tied up though they were, she stood out like a sore thumb amidst her straight haired peers.

"Not enough! That's exactly right, cadets!" the lieutenant turned around, facing her charges, running backward, and keeping pace. "How about we keep going until it is enough!"

"Ma'am, it'll never be enough, ma'am! We are inexorable, we are inevitable, and we are unstoppable! Our Flames, our Fury!" the cadets roared in unison.

The lieutenant had seemed taken aback, for she hesitated in her response. "The Fire Lord and her husband's house words, are more than just words, cadets! Today you have finally understood that. When those words are said, how do we respond?"

"Ma'am! Our commitment, our loyalty! Ma'am!"

"Well done, cadets! We will return to the Academy, you will hit the baths, and settle in for an hour of rest before classes!" Chi-Ha turned back around and led them down the path to the Academy.

"Ma'am! Thank you, ma'am!" Mai looked on for several more minutes as they disappeared beyond the crest of the hill. She returned to reading her reports.

 _"Triarch Nyessos Vhassar expresses his displeasure at having such a large army of sellswords and freedmen so near Volantis. Despite administrator Lama Ai, and Triarch Malaquo Maegyr's, constant reassurances regarding them, and our promises of having our support should anything threaten the Triarchy's well-being, Vhassar is still hesitant. Our sources within the city and the temple, hint at possible pressures from another, outside the Triarchy, influencing Nyessos Vhassar. We await the Fire Lord's orders on pursuing our investigation."_

 _"In addition, our trade agreements with Volantis have made all those involved obscenely rich, and Doniphos Paenymion has shown his gratitude with his, albeit less than enthusiastic, support. Requests for paid escort on ships leaving Slaver's Bay have increased. Some of the masters of Slaver's Bay have offered the equivalent of four hundred Gold Dragons for a simple trip to Volantis. A trip which cost us but three days and around one hundred forty dragons in supplies and wages. Evidently, the example the Fire Lord and Lord Stannis made of the Stepstones, in regards to piracy, has shunted pirate raids from the Basilisk Isles. So long as 'the Firestorm' or 'the Inferno' were seen as part of the escort, that is."_

 _'Depopulating a chain of islands would have that effect on people. Pirates or no,'_ she mused, tearing off a small piece of her honeyed pastry. Its sweet scent filled her nostrils, as she bit into it, savoring its sugary flavor.

 _"Salladhor Saan and his fleet still remain under our employ, a portion of his fleet escorts the newly built 'Inferno' in patrol along the ruined coasts of Valyria and the Summer Sea. The other half of his fleet escorts the Firestorm back to Westeros, with the requested luxury goods. The portion of thirty percent of the profits is still acceptable as the price of the business with Saan and his sellsails. Even so, Mormont has advised proceeding with caution, with both the Triarchy and our mercenaries, both ship, and sword. The Administrator and I agree with his assessment."_

"Understandable," she sipped at her tea, refraining from taking another piece out of her sweet roll.

 _"On another note, Kraznys mo Nakloz, a Good Master of Astapor, has offered one hundred Unsullied for an Iron cruiser. While the offer was indeed insulting, the Administrator has taken it under consideration, so as not to offend Kraznys, and keep communications open for negotiation, upon review by the Fire Lord."_

Her eyebrow twitched, "Azula is certainly going have a good laugh out of this one," she scoffed. "One hundred Unsullied for a cruiser? Pfft." She turned the page and continued reading.

 _"Furthermore, sporadic reports from freedmen who had gone as far as Vaes Dothrak spoke of rumors about a hidden city in the Bone Mountains taking in refugees escaping from Dothraki hordes. There may be nothing to these rumors, given the majority of the freedmen are prone to superstition, however, I felt it prudent to include this in my report."_

 _"Finally, sightings of 'the ghost ship' have turned up again. Though the source of the information was questionable, a man who claimed to have sailed near the ruins of Valyria, reported seeing a ship similar to the one Lieutenant Chi-Ha had burned during the Stepstones, 'the Silence.' The captain of which she had reportedly killed, Euron Greyjoy. The ship's description was nearly identical to the one Chi-Ha had put in her report, down to the red, lean look, single mast with black sails, and dark red hull. The man even claimed to have seen a mouthless maiden, of black iron, on its prow, before the ship had disappeared into the Smoking Sea. I have informed initiate Shun Ko, stationed aboard 'the Big Betha,' just in case Ser Davos' business in the Summer Sea find him at odds with this supposed 'ghost ship.'"_

"Hmmm," she tapped her finger for a moment, looking down upon the parchment.

 _"End Progress Report on Stannis Fort operations. Period 9-01-298 AC through 9-30-298 AC;_

 _Initiate of the Order of the Burning Tree, and Communications Officer stationed at the Stannis Fort, Su Ai."_

Setting down the letter, she lifted the unopened report from 'the Big Betha,' and slid it open, breaking the small wax seal. A set of nearby iron paper weights, fashioned into stags with burning antlers, were set into place to prevent the report from furling back up. Emptying the cup of tea, she set it aside, focusing on the Fire Nation lettering.

 _"Initiate of the Order of the Burning Tree, and Communications Officer stationed aboard 'the Big Betha,' Shun Ko, to Fire Lord Azula of Dragonstone, Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, and the Lady Mai, Overseer of the Grand Academy, and the Agni Shipyard:_

 _Reconnaissance Report: Summer and Jade Seas. Docked at New Ghis. Period 9-01-298 AC through 9-30-298 AC;_

 _After discovering our quarry was headed towards Qarth, we set off in pursuit from Lys, as per our previous reconnaissance report. Vargyros' former first mate, Lazorno Ennatis, gave the Orange Shore so a wide a berth that it almost seemed as if their heading was taking them towards the Summer Isles. Given the location of the Stannis Fort, and more importantly 'the Inferno's' usual patrol route, along the Orange Shore, Ennatis' decision may have been intentional."_

 _'You don't say?'_ her mind quipped, causing her to raise an eye at the mention of Vargyros. The man she had heard scream pitifully in the caverns all those months ago. _'So the rumors of him being in possession of the Targaryen girl were more than mere rumors?_ ' She did not care for the man, he had been of ill repute, but the girl seemed to be an innocent caught in Azula's game. _'Ivory,'_ she recalled the name Azula had spoken.

* * *

"One of the few ships to have gotten past the blockade, and it was holding a Targaryen heiress," Stannis snorted. He stood still, examining the map of the continents resting on Azula's desk, tracing the outline of the Stepstones with his finger.

"Possibly, I heard rumors on and off for years before the Stepstones, and now I have something more substantial than smoke and shadows. She's a loose end, if true," Azula said of the girl. "One Robert would reward us handsomely for cutting away," she glanced towards Stannis. "Were I a superstitious woman, I would almost have called her escape…"

"Fate," Stannis finished for her. "Are we to trust the word of a pirate, then?" he questioned.

"Of course not, but we cannot exactly let this go," Azula answered, looking down at the map, her eyes resting on the Stepstones. "It's too big of a risk. Not to mention, he apparently had plans to trade her to a third party. However, he did not know the identity of the individual, only that the buyer's envoy was a Red Priestess, who always seemed to be cloaked in shadow."

"I assume it wasn't one of ours?" she questioned.

"As far as I can tell, no. I have enough spies within the Red Priests that follow me, to know something like this," Azula responded in a huff, the red flames suddenly flaring blue for a moment. "I am confident it to be the Red Woman, or one of her followers, who spoke against me. They have all since vanished from all the places they once frequented."

They remained silent, quietly contemplating their next move.

"We should inform Robert of this," Mai stated finally.

Azula's brow wrinkled up, a scowl lining her features. "Are you insane? The King's court is full of more holes than Braavosi cheese, and it's just as unsavory. Once word gets out that there may be a living Targaryen claimant, this 'Ivory,' everyone will seek her out. Both our enemies here, and abroad, would end up making our job at tracking her down that much harder."

"You propose silence on the matter?" Stannis frowned, his arms crossed.

"At least until we discover the truth and have her in our possession," she answered. "Then we deliver her to Robert, and he can figure out how to deal with her. So long as we were the ones to do it, we get the laurels and the recognition for the task. Perhaps then, Robert will hand us, or at the very least Steffon, the Stormlands, and give Renly some small holdfast far beyond the wall? He wouldn't dare take Dragonstone away from us after all the work we have put into it, nor would our work go unrewarded. Ty Lee inherits Dragonstone, claiming the fleet, Steffon inherits Storm's End and the Stormlands with it, while Ursa claims the North through Robb, and given the relations between the Vale, and the Riverlands, to the North, we will have all the alliances we need to crush the Lannisters. Stabilizing Robert's reign in the aftermath of the revelation."

"And we still hold Margaery," Mai added, somewhat saddened by even mentioning Ty Lee's friend, her friend, in their conversation.

"That we do, though the Tyrells and the Reach itself remains divided," Stannis grunted his reply. "The Tarly fiasco has given them all quite the headache it seems."

Azula's finger drifted to the former seat of the Tarly's, Horn Hill, now the seat of Garlan Tyrell. "Should the Tyrells unite the Reach against us, then Highgarden, and all the other lordships are the King's to…reassign," a dangerous smirk came over Azula's face.

"So be it," Stannis stated simply.

* * *

Snapping out of her memories, she returned to her reading of the report.

 _"Upon nearing the ruins of Valyria, an unexpected tempest found us losing track of him. Once the storm dissipated, we encountered a trader slightly past the ruined coasts, transporting various dried foods, hailing from Slaver's Bay, and headed towards Volantis."_

"Hmmm," she reread the words on the previous report of the man who had sailed near Valyria, and had supposedly seen 'the Silence.' "The same man?" Mai questioned out loud, making note of it on a small scrap of parchment near the corner of her desk before she continued reading.

 _"He appeared shaken from the storm and was a cautious sort, keen on hugging the coastline in the event of another catastrophe. Before the wind and rain assaulted his vessel, he claimed to have seen a ship bearing the description of Ennatis' vessel, reddish-brown with purple sails, 'the Bloody Woman,' doubling back, towards the Basilisk Isles. Ser Davos theorized that his ship may have suffered some damage in the storm, for him to have chosen such a dangerous port. My father made the counter argument that perhaps Ennatis realized we were tracking him, and chose the Isles in particular for their hatred of any ship loyal to the burning stag. I chose the third option of it being a combination of both reasons."_

 _'The best case would be for it to be the first reason, but knowing our luck it is the second,'_ the pessimist within her replied.

 _"Regardless, the risk has become far greater, especially if he knows and has spoken of our presence. Ser Davos has uttered the names of several pirates maimed during 'the Firestorm's' tour of duty, who would gladly risk their lives to destroy agents of the Fire Lord. Should brigands from the Isles choose to engage us, while we are on the open sea, we would be at a disadvantage given our small size and crew. We have only three benders, myself included, one repurposed, and seven Flameguard, in addition to Davos' standard crew of eight. Making port at New Ghis affords us some protection, but soon we must depart, and we only await the Fire Lord's command on whether we should return to Volantis and see if Ennatis returns that way, or if we should move on towards Qarth, to see if the pirate still intends to bring our quarry there._

 _End Reconnaissance Report: Summer and Jade Seas. Docked at New Ghis. Period 9-01-298 AC through 9-30-298 AC;_ _Initiate of the Order of the Burning Tree, and Communications Officer stationed aboard 'the Big Betha,' Shun Ko."_

She rose from her seat, remembering the random sailor both reports had told of and made her way to the large map of the Essosi coastline.

Her eyes were drawn towards the place where the capital of the great Valyrian Freehold was raised. As she stared, a small part of her was reminded of home, of the Fire Nation, with which the Freehold shared many similarities with. It's affinity for fire and dragons, but unlike the Fire Nation, the Freehold had long ago been reduced to a sad, broken ruin.

She reached out, her fingers running over the place where the Freehold once stood. _'The heart of an empire,'_ she ruminated. _'A country whose history spanned millennia, cut out and destroyed in a mere century.'_

She had no idea why the morbid thought had come to her, but perhaps it was because, with Azula gone, Zuko would have become Fire Lord. Zuko would be the one to steer the history of the Fire Nation, and Mai hoped it would not be the same path that had led the Valyrians to their doom. She understood now, why Azula would stare at it for so long. It was not the thought that Zuko would lead the Fire Nation, but the realization that Azula would forever be denied the opportunity to do so herself.

Shaking her idol musings away, Mai recounted the approximate location where Shun Ko had encountered the trader and the story the man in Su Ai's report had voiced to her. ' _Su had said she would warn Shun,'_ her mind focused, _'and since it had not been in his report, he must have encountered the man first, and that means…'the Silence' was following them. Or could it be it was following the same lead they were? How…'_

Her thoughts went unfinished by a sudden knock at the entrance to her office. "Overseer Mai?" uttered Clarysse Paege's voice from behind the sturdy oaken door.

"Enter," She replied. Watching as the young girl meekly pushed open the door. "What is it?"

"Word from the Fire Lord, in regards to the reports," she responded in a squeak.

 _'Awake already, Azula? Don't you sleep?'_ Mai reached out for the rolled up scroll. "Thank you," she said to the girl, who quickly gave her the Fire Nation salute, of fist under palm, before scurrying out of the office. Breaking the wax seal of the scroll, the words found therein were clear.

" _Fire Lord Azula of Dragonstone, to the Lady Mai, Overseer of the Grand Academy, and the Agni Shipyard. Message verified by the Red Priestess of Dragonstone Cyvia, Grandmaster of the Burning Tree, Xai Bau, and Ser Steffon of Dragonstone:_

 _Summon Chi-Ha, and have her describe the events of the Stepstones once more. It cannot be mere coincidence that both the Crow's Eye and possibly 'the' Red Priestess were present at the Stepstones where the Targaryen girl was to be traded. Report your findings. I will speak to Greyjoy on his uncle._

 _Fire Lord Azula Baratheon of Dragonstone."_

She lifted the small bell on her desk, ringing it. The large form of the Flameguard currently stationed at her door opened the entry into her room. "Clegane, could you please have one of the junior ministers summon Lieutenant Chi-Ha?"

"Yes, my lady," his gruff voice replied.

"Thank you," she returned to staring at the map of the Essosi coastline, before turning on her heels and striding up to the window. The morning had become bright, with seagulls cawing in the distance.


	45. (Dragonstone) Maege IV

Another wonderful contribution by Mr. Sensfan90! Thank you very much Ser Sens! =)

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(Dragonstone: 298 AC) Maege IV

Laying her quill back in its ink she let her latest letter for home dry. Her exams had passed without issue and by all accounts Azula had passed with ease as well. Mother and father had written to her ahead of time to wish them luck and deliver a few gifts for their first true celebration of the Fire Nation. Father in particular and commissioned a beautiful crimson mask with the fierceness of a mighty bear for her to wear. Polished and glossy it was both stunning and a tad frightening. Exactly how she wished for it to be when father first introduced the idea in Lyanna's Bay a few years ago. Despite her dreams he told her firmly but gently it would only be right to have it on Dragonstone.

Setting her red bear mask upon her desk she grabbed her favorite hair brush. With graduation of the year's cadets over it meant a more formal attire for the Fire Festival. As much as she wanted to keep her usual braid she knew mother and Aunt Lyanna would be cross with her for the evening. It was practical and simple but not becoming of a young lady of high birth. Taking a cue from what mother favored from her time on Bear Island she decided keeping it long and straight.

"Maege why the masks? Aren't the dresses and feasts enough?" Turning around she stopped for a moment to appreciate the grey wolf mask Azula had chosen. It had been a gift from grandmother from a masquerade at Winterfell many years ago. "Father says it's an ancient tradition of the Fire Nation, a reminder of the vast spirits that existed in their world. Apparently wearing the beak of a bird or the fury of a dragon was supposed to bless the wearer with their attributes. Thinking of becoming a Stark eh?"

"Oh Maege really? Like you have not thought of becoming a Lady of Winterfell at some point. What does mother say?"

"Mother thought it was just an excuse to dress up and have fun. It's why father combined it with the Harvest Feasts over the last few years. Apparently the one on Dragonstone is much much bigger." Azula smiled widely at the mention of the gathering back home along the Bay of Ice. The North greatly disapproved of opulence and excess when it came to food but for a few days every year that was ignored by nobles and smallfolk alike. Lemon cakes, rich stews and treats she never saw otherwise would fill her stomach to the brim!

"Do you think they will have Ice Syrup tonight?" Closing her eyes she almost imagined she could feel the sweetness on her tongue. Too long she had been separated from her favorite treat.

"I sure hope so, what's the point of a festival without pancakes and syrup? Aunt Lyanna promised me there would be a large shipment from Bear Island ready and waiting for us." She giggled at her sister's clapping before returning to her hair. The trees which made Ice Syrup were only found in the North and predominantly along the north western coast and Bear Island. The wealth it generated was one of the few reasons House Mormont maintained its status as a Noble house despite the climate and repeated attacks by pirates, wildlings and Ironborn. The Firelord had certainly eased the financial burden of their land but they still had their pride. Besides she knew from Lyanna's Bay that even the pureblooded of the Fire Nation could not get enough of the stuff.

"You ready to go?" Azula hopped to her feet without a reply, making for the door without a word. Clearly the thought of their favorite food was most important thing on her mind. Casually she closed the door and headed towards the main hall only to interrupted.

"Ah Lady Mormont, congratulations!" Surprised she almost bumped into the man, her classmate Aemon Li leaving from his own room. If memory served he was the son of some baker's daughter in Tally Hall and a minor engineer from the Fire Nation Navy. He had almost a dozen siblings in the academy, half of which were benders like him. Unlike the Baratheon children the Yi Tish features were far more pronounced on his face, though the green eyes was definitely from his mother. They never talked much but he was quite the hard worker.

"You as well, you made the top five did you not?"

"Indeed I did end up placing fourth, unfortunately Zhang Wei got every test answer perfect. I thought I had in him in combat by enough but the instructors disagreed and had him third."

"Not surprised, if I had parents like Zhang I would have amazing test scores too. Well that or die trying I suppose." Truly the boy had it difficult, a pureblood non bender his parents expected him to graduate the academy with honors. He wasn't the only one, the parents born and raised in the far off land were visibly disappointed when a half-blood or even full Westerosi outdid their children. Though she had no proof the teachers enforced that attitude it did seem the more Fire Nation blood you had the harsher the marks. The double standard worked in reverse too, those with Westerosi blood were rewarded at every step and used as an example for others to follow. Part of her understood it was all part of the fierce competition the Firelord wanted in her schools to encourage only the best. A more cynical part of her thought it was a hanging threat. If boys and girls born without the power and education of the Fire Nation were superior obviously the problem was with the parent not the child. Which would of course push them to ensure they were superior and begin the cycle again.

"Come now my father is just as hard on me for training, I'm sure Commander Xie had high expectations for you."

"Well he did for Azula, I have only one expectation while I am here. Don't tell me your mother wants all of you in the navy or guard and away from home?" Aemon scratched his head in embarrassment, obviously she had guessed right.

"Can you blame her? She hardly has enough time spend with her child before preparing for the next one. I mean I cannot complain, I would probably be some laborer in Tarly Hall or Sweetport Sound if she did not agree to bear father's children. She adores every minute we spend with her but she also knows what she signed up for." Her mind's eye noticed his flame burst brightly at the last remark but just as quickly it dispersed. Emotionally he did not like his mother's status but he could not deny the benefits. At least his father seemingly treated his spouse with respect, mother had long warned her sailor wives often led a harsh life. Month's spent overseeing the household and children alone had been known to end in tragedy or depression if they never returned. To say nothing of those who choose less honorable professions upon the sea.

"Fair enough, excited for the Festival?"

"Immensely, the only time of year we get Fire Flakes on Dragonstone and they are delicious." She hid her grimace at the thought, father loved the things but the rest of the family did not. She figured it was the Northern blood not liking the spiciness. Mother practically gagged when she had tried it. Father had looked rather sad when it happened right up until he realized it meant more for him. "The various shows are pretty fun too, though I gather a northern bear like yourself would enjoy some of them more." Eyeing a Wolf and Falcon from the end of the hall she knew that meant they showcased Robert's Rebellion. Outside of a few banners the various wars of Westeros were the only times you heard anything that was not a Stag or a Sun Dragon from the entertainers.

The Academy has been transformed seemingly overnight, gone were the cold regimented chairs and desks, replaced with colorful tables, booths and several banners she had never seen before. Judging by the Yi Tish looking men and women they were the previous Firelords. She could barely see over the taller children but more than one mummer's dragon was fighting a mighty stag or wolf on one of the many platforms that had been constructed. The only thing that had not changed were the instructors, ever vigilant over the students as they slowly trickled in. Soon the parents joined them, children giddy has they placed their masks on their heads naturally gravitating with their families. Before she knew it the whole room was drowned in a thousand conversations. She barely heard her soon to be former classmate approach them from behind.

"Lady Maege, Lady Azula an honor as always." The voice of Cadet Rina pierced the veil of the crowd, gone were the standard clothes of the academy, replaced with a true uniform of the Fire Nation. Befitting a soldier she wore no mask. "Your dress is quite lovely Lady Azula, though the red is quite the surprise." An unladylike snort escaped her sisters' lips at the comment flippantly pointing to her own emerald green gown.

"Father wanted us to honor both our heritage and the Firelord Cadet Rina, so he made sure mother supplied us with gowns of both colors. Since Maege finished ahead of me in the rankings she got to choose which one she wanted."

"Congratulations are in order then, you finished second and fifth in your age group did you not?" Part of her thought she did not deserve the second ranking, quite a few classmates had better marks in history and mathematics. Unfortunately for everyone else the combat scores formed a disproportionate part of the curriculum, she doubted she could have finished beyond the top five even if she was a simpleton. As Azula so eloquently put it, what use is there bringing a sword or torch to face a walking explosion?

"We did indeed Cadet Rina, or if I am not too bold _Lady_ Rina?" The spark of inner fire was all she needed to know really but her mother has long taught her it pays to be polite.

"Very well Lady Maege and I thank you for your belief in my abilities. As of last night I graduated and am now officially a member of the Fire Nation and a Lady of the Court. Not that my family expected anything less." She smiled sadly at her tone but hugged her fiercely in congratulations. Of the older students Rina had been by far the most supportive and helpful with quite a bit of useful experience in all sections of the curriculum. Then again Rina's family was not only large but filled with a long history of loyal soldiers to the Fire Nation. Given the size of her particular graduating class anything less than the top five was unacceptable. Worse as a pureblood firebender she likely knew anything less would be corrected in the future…harshly. She was expected serve, to lead and to excel above all others. Still she was not one to judge the nobles of Dragonstone, father had similar expectations of herself and Azula even if they were several years away from the age of apprenticeship or military service/

"Oh come now Rina, I've sparred with a dozen of your classmates alongside Commander Chang, you earned your rank. If you're interested in serving in the Navy I am sure my father would be delighted to approve your transfer, he is always complaining about the lack of good officers." For a moment she caught herself, hoping her friend did not find it improper. She knew from the harsh stance Commander Chang took with Takkar that as a rule nepotism was looked upon harshly without merit. It still happened of course but almost never publicly. Thankfully Rina smiled and took it as the honest compliment it was, sparing her the embarrassment.

"That is quite gracious of you Lady Maege but I will go where the Firelord wishes me, besides let it not be said your father played favorites with his daughters!" With a wink she offered her arm as they made their way further into the crowds, a fire juggler enrapturing some of the younger children. Games and booths surrounded them on all sides of the hall, it was almost overwhelming. Before long her sister seemed to grow bored and tapped her mask impatiently, the wolf a stark contrast to the dragons, stags and flat colored choices of the majority in the hall.

"Lady Rina, what do think we should try first?"

"Oh yes, this would be your first Fire Festival on Dragonstone. Is Lyanna's Cove so different?"

"We have the mummers and music but none of the fire acts or the same food."

"What Azula means to say is the festival was a lot smaller and combined with the Harvest Feast."

"Harvest Feast?" Incredulous she looked hard into Rina's eyes but found no lies. Was Dragonsonte so remote they did not know of the Harvest Feast?"

"Well yes every year the members of the Seven Kingdoms, even the Ironborn celebrate the harvesting of the fields before another year of winter. Especially in the North it is a grand celebration in preparation for a harsh season. You've never heard of it?"

"Well textbooks speak of harvest festivals from the Fire Nation but I never thought about it in Westeros. All we've had is the Fire Festival, though Lord Stannis may simply have combined the two for simplicity." Rolling her eyes she had to admit that sounded likely if the stories of Lord Baratheon were true. Yet her father had done the same thing and he was not one for compromising when he did not have to. It had to be the Firelord then, but why?

"Well alright Lady Rina, hey what are those woman up to?" A large group of women had grouped together along one of the large tables, gossiping over some inane topic. Oddly they remained distant from their children and the other families as they settled in for the entertainment. If not for the sheer size she had no idea why Azula found them interesting.

"Oh them? A group of mother's escorting their children, Westerosi born if I am not mistaken." Credit to Rina for being polite about it but it was obvious they were the lowborn mothers bribed by the Firelord to grow the size of her people. Even after time had proven their ability to pass on firebending to the next generation they remained common born in the eyes of many. They offered no wealth or opportunity beyond their children and the more educated and highborn Westerosi kept themselves separate. It was less blatant back home due to overwhelming military population but it was still rather obvious in the many settlers which came from beyond the North. Mother had called it a golden cage, smallfolk could live a life they only dreamed of but they could never leave without their children.

Lost in her thoughts she walked right into a poor unsuspecting woman. Grabbing her arm to steady her swaying form she was interrupted before she could apologize. "Oh Lady Mormont forgive me I did not see you moving until it was too late. Please pass along a message of gratitude once again for your father's blessing." Slightly confused she nodded at the woman, her pale skin and eyes a telling sign of her northern heritage. It took a moment before she realized where she knew the accent from, definitely from Forrester lands. The name escaped her but then again her father regularly offered employment to the smallfolk of the North. A few however took a position within Dragonstone, all of which by marriage.

"Pay no mind, the Firelord in her charity has long offered jobs and lands for those who work for her. My father was simply doing as he was ordered. Forgive me if I am wrong but your accent, you are from Ironrath correct Lady...?"

"Alys, Lady Mormont and yes I am indeed. My brother fought for Lord Gregor when the squids rose in rebellion, whatever he did it was enough for your father to offer him a place in the flameguard. At first I thought he wanted me to come as a cook, imagine my surprise when a fire nation man wanted my hand." She smiled as her children waved from their seats in front of the mummer's show but it was wistful. Almost instinctively she knew what the young mother felt.

"You miss home do you not?"

"What? Why would you say that? Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea gave me a life I would never have had in the Wolfswood. My sons and daughter have their numbers and letters, I have silk and jewels in my home, not just wool and carved bone." Neither of them took her words as complete truth, an insult to the Firelord even indirectly was not tolerated on Dragonstone. However courtesy finds a way where a biting remark would meet a fierce blade.

"Oh I imagine the Firelord has been most gracious in supporting her people. But we are both of the First Men are we not? It can be trying at times, if you ever feel it is too much my room is open. It is rather small my lady but we even managed to plant a few Heart Trees in the garden along island coast. It can be overwhelming can it not?"

Alys looked at her for a moment before a bitter laugh escaped her. "Ha, that obvious is it? I wager a stag or two you feel it even more. Your father may have introduced blood of fire but your land and people are still the majority. My children only know the North from stories, what do they know of the Wolfswood, the Wall or the Great Barrows of the First Men?" Sighing she continued, "at least they don't worship the bloody Red God despite the efforts of the Red Priests. Still my husband treats me with respect and I have a home I could never have hoped for in Ironrath. I do miss my old friends, even the vastness of the North at times but no Lady Mormont I do not miss home." Deliberately Alys turned back towards her children and took a seat as the play began, their contentment and posture telling her all she needed to know about the woman's happiness in Dragonstone.

"I like your stories Maege, who cares what other people think?" Grinning brightly she turned around once more, Ty Lee fashioned immaculately in a deep red dress with a yellow shall. Was it excessively detailed and expensive for the festival? Yes. Was it worthy of the Firelord's daughter? Perfectly. A finely detailed yellow doe covered her friends face as she quickly moved towards her.

"I suppose I never took for granted how much the Fire Festival was for lack of a better word Northern back home. If not for the mummer's speaking of Robert's Rebellion and the Stepstones I could easily forget we are in Westeros."

"Lady Mai and mother like to remind people of where their blood comes from, of their _rich history and culture._ " Her inner flame rumbled slightly with every last word, if nothing else tonight had taught her you could see sarcasm in someone's aura. Or maybe she simply knew her friend that well after several months spending so much time together.

"You dislike it then, I thought you loved reading about it?"

"I love when father and Maester Cressen teaches me about the history of House Baratheon and Durrandon. I love when mother takes the time to tell me about her own adventures in her homeland. But this? Too much mummery for my tastes, it gets old after a while. _All for the glory of the Firelord and her Fire Nation_."

"Enough depressing talk then, congratulations on finishing first in the class." Ty Lee flashed a grin, clearly proud of herself. Being the best technical to the best power fighter like her, their combat marks had been a close thing. However she simply did not have the same dedication for studying the fiery doe had. Something she figured was definitely inherited from her father as all the stories she heard of Ursa and Steffon spoke of remarkable diligence.

"Thank you Maege, though between my tutors and I it is hard to tell who is happier."

"Oh, why is that?"

"Mother may have chosen to be hands off with my training but I figure the tutors assume anything less than perfect will lead to a reprimand." Frowning she wondered why the Firelord simply did not oversee her training like Lady Ursa. Then again from what some of the older students had said that was exactly the problem, Ursa Baratheon had outclassed everyone so quickly most of the young cadets on Dragonstone feared even talking to her. To this day even some of the instructors whispered how dangerous she was before she even became a woman. Ty Lee by contrast was still an excellent student but not some massive direwolf surrounded by cattle. She treated a spar like practice and not a life or death battle. If not for her firebending she would not be much different from a popular young lady of a noble house surrounded by her vassals' children.

"Still finishing first is no small accomplishment and I have the best idea for a present." Taking her hand and ignoring the looks of some of the guards she practically dragged Ty Lee over to the green and red tapestries of House Mormont. A green bear for Bear Island and a red bear for Lyanna's Bay with a fire breathing bear in the background signifying the few students who had transferred from the northern academy. Sure enough the sweet smell of syrup filled the air. Lyanna bless her heart knew what she wanted immediately and before they sat down a plate was already ready for them.

"This my lady is Ice Syrup, a gift from the Old Gods!" Ty Lee with a bemused expression delicately cut a piece for herself before taking a bite. Her eyes widening she practically tore into the plate for a second bite all but ignoring the laughter at the table.

"Well Maege I think we have the approval of House Baratheon don't ya think?" Leaving Ty Lee to her sumptuous meal she silently thanked her aunt as a drink was poured for herself.

"Was there ever any doubt? Seriously though Aunt Lyanna how did your tests go?"

"Seventh, my grades were quite good but I to no one's surprise I am lacking in the combat department." The deadpan tone caused her to grimace, without the ability to bend Lyanna was ultimately a young girl and years away from her first moon's blood at that. Still for lacking the inner spark seventh out of sixty was nothing to be ashamed of, third if one discounted bending altogether. It probably would not be until the last year or so before graduation before she had any real chance of scoring high enough in the combat aspects to find a place in the navy or flame guard. However Lyanna may not want that at all, perhaps in time she would choose a learned profession, they had time. She was fifth daughter of her namesake so whatever opportunity she gained from the Academy was probably her best chance at a good life. Well besides a good marriage, her condition certainly had raised the prestige of House Mormont among the purebreds. Suddenly a group of boys chorused through the hall, she recognized more than a few of them.

"What's the cheering for anyway?"

Ty Lee perked up for a moment before motioning for a glass of her own. "A few of the older students are having a drink for Takkar. It seems he finished first once again. Judging by how loud they were it definitely was not a single mug."

"Of course he did, Ser Kai and Lady Ursa are away on business and orders from the Fire Lord herself, he has no competition besides perhaps Ser Seaworth with blade or Lady Rina at close range. While except for you Maege, you could probably blow him up him right now." The mental image appeared a bit too quick to be healthy but she shook her head.

"Don't joke about that Lyanna combustion is not something to be used on a whim. I sparred more than once with him, he deserves his praise. Besides Commander Chang surely beat it into him to never fight one such as myself head on unless coerced."

"Because you're too powerful?" Mormont pride bursting from her aunt's eyes she gently shook her head.

"Because history is full of men and women who killed a combustion bender only to die in a final blast. I am dangerous because of what I am Lyanna, as much as I disliked it before I needed to come here." Lyanna pouted as the mood suddenly became somber but the taste of sweet syrup on her tongue made the feeling disappear immediately. A small giggle escaped her as Ty Lee asked for seconds, a dedicated fan if there ever was one.

"Up for a game then Maege?"

"Oh ready to lose Azula?" She eyed some of the booths, wondering which challenge her sister would choose. Ignoring the card games and bobbing for fruits popular among the smallfolk she turned towards the few attractions fully manned by the flame guard. Would it be Hand of Fate? Around the World, Dragonsbane?

"Hand of Fate?"

"Oh going for the classics then? Sure two silvers say I win."

"Two silvers, I say a stag!" Rolling her eyes at hubris they got in line for the game. Two benders were given a single small flame and tasked with lighting two identical mazes of candles. It was a rather simple thing for any half way competent firebender. The difficulty lay in the rules, one could not go backwards and every candle you missed was a negative point. Whoever had the most alight at the end of the maze would win. The strategy however came into the two final rules. If the fire spilled onto the floor you would be disqualified and at least during school hours heavily reprimanded for the failure. And if one was too careful a fast player once finished could begin lighting their opponents' course, stealing points.

"Alright ladies, on my mark …..go!" Ignoring the small group of onlookers she focused on the small flame, carefully dancing it across her fingers. Despite already noticing Azula gathering a decent lead her lessons convined her to be slow and steady. One by one each candle came alive, nothing was left on the table. Her sister by contrast had already finished half the course with no care to the score of missed points. She smirked it seemed it would come down to speed versus skill.

"Running out of chances Maege!"

"Leaving too much on the field Azula!" Methodically she continued her movements, sparing not a single glance as her sister began to entering her own lane. She only stopped as she felt the her sister's own flame nearly engulf hers.

"Enough, the round has ended. Ladies please return to the entrance as we count." Both of them smiled, it had been close to the end and a quick glance made the winner a close thing. She noticed a few of their classmates had gathered to watch, Aemon, Ty Lee and Aunt Lyanna front and center.

"By a score of 23-22 Cadet Maege Mormont is the winner!" A few cheers could be heard but she simply smirked and held out a hand for sister to pay up. Ignoring mutterings of double or nothing she was surprised to hear a few of the older boys swearing behind them. Rather quickly Rina approached were with the look of a hunter who had just snagged her prey. A small pile of golden stags in her hands, someone had made a very good bet.

"Don't say I never had faith in you Maege, come on I got us some good seats for the play." Once again taking her friends arm she looked forward to it, the night had been wonderful so far.


	46. (Sea Dragon Point) Commander Xie III

Another wonderful contribution by Mr. Sensfan90! Thank you very much Ser Sens! =)

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(Sea Dragon Point, outskirts of Dragonfort: 298 AC) Commander Xie III

"We found the remains of a small camp about six miles east, the logbooks were coded and a good deal of their equipment scuttled."

"Thank you Ser Royland. Tell your unit to prepare for another sortie tomorrow. I doubt they would have had time to setup any deeper inland but in this case I believe prudence is the better part of valor." Looking over the broken logs and burned tents of the work camp he cursed at the issues this raised, the iron ore mined not far from here was crucial to the long term plans of the Fire Nation.

"Understood sir." Waving him off he left the Captain of the Flameguard to oversee the logistics of the soldiers. It truly was a shame the man was no firebender, he would have risen far quicker in the Fire Nation otherwise. Looking over the destruction of the small workers camp he bit back a curse at the senseless waste.

He was almost beyond angry, a small problem continued to grow and he found himself unable to find a remedy. He searched for some consolation since at least it gave him an excuse to better interact with one of his two principle banners. Lord Roose Ryswell of Dragonfort was a diligent man with a young bender son, a healthy daughter and if ravens be true another child on the way. He had not reacted well to invaders on his land, protesting loudly to all who would hear.

"Another fucking group of raiders were killed last night, bastards killed six of my men before the alarm was sounded." Nodding he knew it was unavoidable to an extent, the holdfast looking over the coast between the Bay of Ice and the Sunset Sea was the smallest of the new settlements and the most isolated. For Dragonfort it was an unpleasant reality of being an almost equal distance from the Wolfswood and the Stony Shore. Though defensible it was vulnerable to covert landings further along the coast, the area still years away from a population that could eliminate such an open threat. Ser Royland had warned him years ago the area was infamous for such problems. Unfortunately those problems were supposed to be Wildlings and Ironborn, these men were not even of Westeros.

"A pack of twenty to thirty then?" It was rhetorical, all the attacks had been of similar size but training demands nothing else but to verify.

"Yes same as the last few. I think we can agree that these are proxies of some kind."

"No doubt, Pentoshi would be my best guess. They made a mistake trying to imitate Ironborn speech as they attacked, the accent is all wrong according to your own men."

"But why Pentoshi then?" Grabbing a corpse a headless man he removed his clothing, no tattoos at all.

"Because the equipment is good but not great and not a single brand among the bodies. Braavos would never send a team without properly fitting them and the rest of Essos uses at least some slaves in war. I concede it could be a sellsword company but why here? No sane mercenary would send soldiers to die in a backwater over an iron mine. The cost versus reward is simply not good enough."

"Perhaps they think it contains information over Lyanna's Bay?"

"A fair point but an unlikely one. This is the sixth attack and a force of such size taken together could have made an attempt on Dragonpoint or Frosthold. It would undoubtedly fail when confronted by your men or Lord Karstark but it would have a much more realistic chance of getting anything of the shipyard."

"Then the iron mine was likely the real target after all, merely the first one to actually reach the target."

"Agreed, they cannot sink the ships but they can make it difficult for us to build them. The climate already means productivity will be slowed when winter comes, this may push back any work beyond finalizing the Rickard considerably." He thanked the spirits, the Red God, the Old Gods and whatever the Seven were the last shipment for the Azula had departed a month previously. Had they not made quota...well his relative freedom as de facto Admiral of the Sunset Sea could be snuffed out with a word.

"They had to have gotten smart eventually, even the Ironborn have taken the hint." That was true, raids and small scale attacks had plague the area sporadically after Balon bent the knee. Within a year of their arrival they had stopped making any actual progress and vanished completely within the last year. Whoever was backing these stunts had learned enough to find an exploitable weakness.

"You know this area of Sea Dragon Point better than I Lord Roger, what do you suggest we do to avoid this in the future?"

"The easiest thing would be ending these bloody pricks at the source, no Lord of the North, Riverlands or Westerlands would threaten the Royal Fleet in any way. Which means the Reach or the Free Cities, something I doubt we can afford to actually investigate. Even if you have the right of it and these are Pentoshi that only leaves a couple dozen magisters." He bit his tongue at that, showing frustration in front of a lord let alone his troops was unacceptable. It did not however mean he was wrong.

"Unfortunately all our resources are tied up in the continued settlement, training of new citizens and construction of proper infrastructure on this land. As fearsome as our ships remain they can do nothing against those who hide in foul burrows and dark alleys far away. Frankly I was hoping you had more immediate ideas in order to protect our lands."

"Normally I would suggest we train some levies to act as a local militia but I suspect these incursions will happen far more than the odd bandit or wilding raid. Perhaps a dedicated unit of your flameguard for scouting and harassment? The hills and bogs are a deathtrap for a large army anyway; light cavalry should do the trick." Of course a Ryswell would suggest a horse heavy force as an alternative, a unit that would of course depend on his newly blossoming breedeing program to function going forward. Still the idea did have merit with a few alterations.

"The idea is sound but this unit will require the ability to operate for weeks in the hinterland to be truly effective. Which means hunters, archers and dedicated trackers. Quite a few of the Wolfswood families have made homes in Frosthold, they should cover most of the deficiencies. I will lend some of my garrison as well, it would be good to have them more familiar with the interior."

"Torrhen will want something in return, he already complains over the state of his village." Frosthold had grown out of the only true village on Sea Dragon Point, largely serving as a trading post and fishing village for Bear Islanders and Boles of the Wolfswood. While Lyanna'a Bay was very much a military settlement Frosthold was quickly developing into supply depot for the working camps and mines within the interior.

"The Karstarks are a powerful family in the North, I say with no insult that ceding you the smaller of the settlements years ago was because it was one less headache at the time. The area that became Frosthold was the only real settlement before my people arrived and I had hoped the transition would have been smoother to a new administration. In fairness to the man Lord Torrhen is being pushed hard from within Karhold to increase their relative power which naturally conflicts with the wishes of the Mormonts, the Crown and the officers of the Flameguard. Petty family politics and all that, the Red Priests are a constant shadow in his walls. Frankly this new formation may be an easy excuse to reassign some undesirables for a period of time. I believe the Northern saying is two birds with one stone."

"Have there been any shall we say unfortunate discoveries?"

"Of the bending? Not so far, the specter of the Butcher remains strong within Westeros. That graduates from the Scorching Bear Academy have slowly made it easier to conceal with all understanding the necessity. Torrhen despite his problems has kept the hard line in this matter, he should given it will be his head. Besides there is a reason I tolerate the excesses of R'hllor in the face of several complaints, they do their job very well."

"I admit your ability to keep those fanatics from burning us all is comforting."

"Yes well their orders are clear from their superiors within Dragonstone and Volantis, those who disagreed were long since killed or exiled deep into Essos."

"Let us hope it stays that way. Any ideas who you plan to give command?"

"Ser Royland is the obvious choice but I simply cannot afford to lose the Commander of the garrison within Dragon's Cove for any length of time. Though it comes with its own difficulties Commander Chang and Lord Stannis have given me a list of young officers to be bloodied if at all possible."

"Does the Master of Ships expect war then?"

"A conflict of some sort, we have evidence the pirates in the Stepstones were financed from elsewhere. They may even be the same group who sent these raiders. It could be nothing but the usual of course. The Three Daughters plan against each other all the time in that blasted archipelago or it may be a piece of a large puzzle."

"Regardless I can sympathize with the need to separate the green boys from the men."

"As do I, nothing is more pitiful than losing good soldiers to a poor officer's incompetence." The two fell into a comfortable silence after that. The damage was done and it was time to move on. Whether this idea would come of anything was irrelevant, it was unfortunately a necessity.

"Any troubles while I was occupied Dacey?" Sitting himself down in their private chambers, it was a relief to see fresh bread and cheese waiting for him. Bless her heart, his she-bear had even made sure the servants had cold drinks ready for them. He was not a man of ale back in the Fire Nation or the front in the Earth Kingdom but living in the North had certainly taught him to appreciate the taste.

"Nothing beyond the usual complaints from the smallfolk and merchants over this and that. A few servants needed a kick in the arse, a cook was caught stealing food." Smiling he relaxed a bit as his wife placed a mug of ale upon the table in front of him. Kissing him on the cheek she took her own seat.

"So what you're saying is that apparently everything went well while I was gone." Sipping the drink, he laughed as Dacey shot him a look, with a small smirk creeping on her face.

"Yes husband, the land did not fall into anarchy without your exquisite oversight. Some good news as well, Maege and Azula sent another letter." Perking up at that bit of news he immediately grabbed the letter, chuckling he noticed that the handwriting had improved.

"Our daughters are making a name for themselves, second and fifth of their entire age group. I bet if it was anyone else but the daughter of Lady Baratheon she would have been the best."

"Well you have to admit they both have advantages the other don't."

"Well yes what chance did they have against the might of the Stag and Bear?" Rolling his eyes he read the letter once again, a small frown appearing on his face. His daughters spoke of a few names more and more.

"You've liked the letters less and less, has something happened to the girls?" He swallowed nervously; years of building Sea Dragon Point had given Dacey a disturbing ability to threaten others while sounding calm and sweet.

"I should be happy by all accounts, yet something bothers me over a few of the names she mentions. I can't help it. Maybe…maybe it's just a father fretting over his daughters."

"My little sister practically gushes over the academy, she even told me the girls had made several friends, including the young Baratheon." That had been a curveball, when the Firelord had suggested they would be companions for her youngest he merely thought one would be a piece to keep him in line or perhaps as a reward for his service. Though not quite the same as Westeros, it was expected for a woman of her station to have ladies in waiting. To hear the young girl had approached her daughter on her own was unexpected but likely for the best in the long run.

"I'm happy she had found friends, the tone of her letters has certainly looked brighter since they met. However as much as Ty Lee sounds like a sweet girl I fear Maege, Lyanna and Azula for that matter do not appreciate the full situation. Maege especially was not sent far away to make friends."

"Xie, what's bothering you? You told me the girls had been sent for training. They are getting it and apparently flourishing."

"Azula is there to train and learn as is young Lyanna, Maege despite my hopes may be for something else. I hate thinking of this but truly there is no other way to frame it. Maege is a living weapon, a walking siege engine or ballista. A power rare and dangerous even among the most powerful of my people's great benders. Other students have noticed, it is not a coincidence that Commander Chang, Zha Meng and Lee have contacted me personally over the past several months."

"….a hostage?"

"No, well not quite as she is a Mormont by name and blood after all. Being barred from returning home would raise very unwanted questions over what is really happening on Dragonstone. A single raven to Winterfell and even the Firelord would have to compromise. No I fear we will soon receive and offer we cannot refuse in return for a longer commitment abroad."

"Such as?"

"A position, an honor or a gift that cannot be denied. Maege will be placed where she can do the most damage or act as the greatest deterrent. Either way I suspect I will not see my child for some time."

"Is there nothing we can do?" Dacey looked rather forlornly into her mug, a sad sight if there ever was one.

Taking a long bitter chug of his ale he shrugged, "Well if Azula starts shooting off lightning we might have a chance."


	47. (King's Landing) Lady Stork IV

(King's Landing 10/4/298 AC) Lady Stork IV

She still could not get over the fetid smell of the city, but years of shadowing the Firelord allowed her to hide her disgust as her lady would. The sun was high above them, as they strode near the shops by the Lion's Gate. The heat made the smell and sounds aggravate her senses even more than they would have otherwise. ' _I hate this city,'_ she thought, nodding towards a passerby and smiling.

"Cheer up, _mother_ ," Ser Steffon said, nudging her shoulder. "The city isn't that bad." Five suits of armor clanked behind her, signaling their five shadows. The three repurposed assigned to Steffon, and the two assigned to her. Robes billowed to her side, as Qyburn examined some herbs near a healer's cart.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," Steffon threw a lopsided grin towards Qyburn chatting excitedly with the slim, beady eyed, healer. "Once he's done, we will go to Marello's shop, to see if he has completed the doll I have asked for."

"Doll?" she asked, knowing full well that the conversation was empty of meaning. The mummer from Braavos knew what was commanded of her. Though the order was simple, it was tedious. _'All to draw attention away from the Lord Hand,'_ though, for what purpose, she did not know.

"Yes, _mother_ ," he replied, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "The one I had made for Myrcella came from Marello's. It was good work, so I requested another to be made, in your likeness, for Ty Lee. I hope she likes it," he smiled, looking towards Qyburn who handed the slim healer a few coins.

"Find what you were looking for, Qyburn?" she asked, hands clasped behind her back.

"Oh yes, my Lady. My experiments have left me low on supplies. These were quite the bargain, couldn't help myself," the old man replied with a soft smile, handing the small satchel of herbs to the repurposed near him. The former man reached for the bagged collection of herbs and silently tucked them away into a small, black leather bag, strapped to his side.

After the healer, they continued down the street, all the while reading the faces of the commoners who were torn between curiosity and avoidance. A trio of highborn ladies approached with their escorts, one with straight golden locks, another with curly brown hair reminiscent of the Tyrell girl on Dragonstone, with the last bearing rosy cheeks and flowing black hair. All, barring the girl with raven hair, seemed intent on striking up a conversation with Steffon.

"Good afternoon, Ser," the women curtsied, giggling and crowding around her _'son.'_

The women's guards shared her annoyance at the spectacle, eyeing her and her Flameguard warily, muttering amongst themselves. A single stare from her was all it took for them to cease their chattering. _'This guise does have its advantages,'_ she smiled inwardly, not allowing the emotion to overcome the carved stone that was the face of the Fire Lord. Once the women started blathering, she tuned them out, striding slightly down the street towards a clothier's shop, taking care not to stray too far from the Fire Lord's son. A large chubby man rose out from under a table with a grunt, holding strands of cloth. He hunched and wore a hood, his forehead riddled with beads of sweat. Despite his outward appearance, he did not smell as bad he looked. Only the slight smell of rotten onions, but she also reasoned, that it might just be the city and the people surrounding her. The sweaty man appeared to be preoccupied as his eyes remained focused downward at something beneath the table. As he lifted his gaze to look upon her, a look of surprise splashed across his face, before it suddenly turned into fear.

"My lady?!" the large man stumbled over his words, nearly dropping the strands of cloth he had been holding.

She raised an eyebrow and saw the man look down into his arms before he tossed the bits of cloth into a wicker basket by his side. "Busy, are you?" she asked, spying a quaint little white dress with a black border, running along the waist and down the middle of the dress, and gold embroidery.

"Not too busy for you, my lady," he replied, following her gaze towards the dress. "Do you like it? Pure Yi Tish silk," he said, reaching for the dress and throwing it over his arm. He presented the bottom corner of the garment, reaching forward, urging her to feel it.

She ran her hands across the smooth fabric, "Exquisite," she replied. The Braavosi mummer knew the Fire Lord disliked overspending, but in order to keep up appearances, a purchase here and there was to be expected, lest eyebrows be raised. "How much?"

"For you, my Lady?" his indigo pools never leaving her enchanted golden ones. "Twen.." the fat man, with remarkably clean teeth started to say. She shifted slightly, facing her body towards his. "Ten," he corrected himself, pulling at his dingy collar. "Ten silver stags."

"Ten?" she questioned. "Hmmm, you drive a hard bargain..." she let the question hang in the air, seeing if the man picked up on it. He was new, and with something as expensive as Yi Tish silk in his stores, he would need to be noted. Especially if none of the others had driven their claws into him. However, that was for the Fire Lord to decide, and not her impersonator.

"Crodell, my Lady," his reply was rushed, frantic.

"Well, Crodell," she smiled, emphasizing his name. "I have never seen you here in King's Landing before. Where are you from?"

He paused, seemingly lost for words. "I was born here, then traveled the seas. Made a life in Qarth for a time, saw my fill of wine and women before those milk-blooded cunts began to annoy me." His eyes bulged out of his sockets after the last word left his lips. He looked to her and took a bow, the shadow of his hood covering his eyes. "Excuse my language, my lady."

"Well, you seemed to have learned something from them then haven't you?" Her arms fell across her chest, bracing themselves against her hands.

"Yes," he smirked. "They were always too prim, too proper, for my tastes. And those Warlocks were very…off-putting. Eventually, I just took my gold, took my ship, hired a crew and set sail for Westeros. There were a few stops along the way, some stops saw me near Volantis where I was witness to the last bits of the Stannis Fort's construction. Even caught a glimpse of the Ironship that patrolled its waters."

"The Firestorm," she stated.

"Whatever its name, it certainly scared those pirates," he gave her a knowing look. "I passed through the Stepstones, my Lady. Not as dangerous as they once were."

"Yes, well, one does what one can," she smirked, reaching into the coin purse at her side. She jingled the coins around, feeling for the silver. "Ah! There they are!" Cupping the correct amount, she presented them towards the clothing merchant. A greedy glint shone in his eyes as she opened her hand.

He looked up, locking his eyes with hers. "If you would allow me to verify that they are true silver stags? I would be most appreciative, my Lady."

She smiled and chuckled, seething inside, "Surely you don't think me a cheat?" The din of the crowded street seemed to fade away, as she focused on the hooded man.

"Of course not, my Lady!" his twin mauves grew in alarm, although the feeling did not seem to go far past the surface of his violet eyes before returning to their cautious guise. "But I am, after all, a trader, and I would be a poor trader, indeed, if I took people at their word, you understand?"

She nodded her head, smile still plastered on her face, "Of course." Her dainty hand remained outstretched and still, the ten silvers reflecting the light of the midday sun from atop her open palm.

He reached over, his head lowered, the shadow of his hood hiding his expression.

"Although," she closed her hand, knuckles cracking as she did so. "I find it interesting that for a man so recently arrived in Westeros, you have quite the unreasonable, fear of me. Why is that?" She smiled. "What terrible stories, of me, have you heard?"

"The typical raunchy stories, pirates, and sailors tell," his head remained lowered, mouth thin and straight, but she knew his eyes were still upon hers. "Hardened men, speaking in hushed whispers of the massacre at the Stepstones, the crushing of the Greyjoy rebellion. All of these at the hands of a grim man and his small Yi-Tish woman, of a wife, with golden eyes."

She couldn't help but smirk at the man's words. "Go, on."

"The descriptions of you are quite detailed, my Lady, even amongst the uneducated rabble of pirates and cutthroats that I often encountered in the brothels and taverns, of the ports lying along the coasts of the Summer and Narrow Seas," the man revealed a small scrap of cloth from his right hand and dabbed it across his brow, his sweat seemingly to have finally got to him. "My return voyage to Westeros proved to be quite the learning experience about your legend. Secondhand, though the tales were, it would've been unwise to risk having taken them as mere exaggerations than as reality," he proffered his hands to receive her silver coins.

"You chose well, Crodell," she relented, opening her hand, and letting the coins fall into Crodell's fat cupped hands. "Now, if you would indulge my curiosity?"

"Yes, my Lady?" he questioned, as he began biting into the silver coins, setting them down after each bite, before flipping a new one in between his fingers.

"During your travels, did you ever have a prolonged stay in Lys?" She asked innocently, taking great care to present her face with a look of childish curiosity. _'Almost had me fooled.'_

The King's Landing newcomer paused mid bite, lowering a coin from his mouth. "I did, my Lady," he smiled, lifting his head, eyes still partially shrouded in shadow. "When I first set out from Westeros. Spent a brief period of my life there, and I often frequented its pleasure houses."

"Really? And how did they compare to the ones here in Westeros or those in Qarth?" She crossed her arms once more.

"There are no pleasure houses in Westeros, my Lady. Only brothels," he answered. "But you knew that already."

She did not hide the smirk or her arched brow.

"And to your question, the brothels in Westeros are dirtier. Even Lord Baelish's establishments are a far cry from the cleanliness found in Lys, which itself is a far cry from the cleanliness of those found in Qarth. Though, the Qartheen do enjoy their incense a bit too much. It ruins the experience when one is coughing up thick, sweet-smelling, smoke."

"Ha! Reminds me of that little pleasure house I burned during the Stepstones. All those pirates too caught up in their ecstasy that they ignored the warning bells," she evened her brow and stared at the man and his shaded eyes. "It was a simple task to bar their doors and windows," she leaned in, cupping her hand around the sweaty man's ear, and whispered. "As they screamed, I wondered why the smoke smelt of sage."

The man reacted with grace and did not allow a hint of concern to mar what she could make of his face. "Hmmm, clearly the owner of that ill-fated establishment was familiar with Qartheen customs."

"Clearly," she stated, casting a quick glance in his direction before raking her fingers along the clothing presented on 'Crodell's' table.

"I have frequented many places, my Lady. Lys, Qarth, and Volantis, the few amongst them," he spoke, folding the white dress, as he did so. "During the first of my travels, I visited all the free cities. Lorath, Myr, Norvos, Tyrosh, Qohor, Pentos, but one of the most memorable places was Braavos. I especially enjoyed the traveling troupes."

For a brief moment, her hand paused its movement over the displayed clothing, before she continued down along the table.

"I remember those mummers being incredibly talented," he carefully slid the folded dress into a leather satchel, tying the leather strips tightly to prevent its contents from falling out.

"So I have heard," she replied, looking back to him. "Truth be told, I find the stories of Pentos to be more intriguing. All those magisters, and their little plays. It is no secret that we trade with the free cities, and I must admit that I find Pentosi cheese to be quite the delicious commodity. Even heard a rumor that a magister who dealt in cheese was seen here in King's Landing, not that long ago." The fat man shifted slightly in response, yet remained silent. "It is my deepest regret that I missed the opportunity to thank him for his products. Had the rumors proved true, of course."

"If such a man had come," the man nodded, smiling, as he handed her the packaged dress. "I'm sure he would've been honored to meet you."

"Of course he would have," she smiled in return, taking the leather bundle from his sweaty hands. "Everyone is honored to meet me." They stood staring at each other in a silent contest of wills.

"Mother!" she heard a shout coming from beneath the, formerly muddled, clamor of the crowds gathered on the street. The multitude of sounds that she had ignored suddenly roared back to life.

"Mother!" she heard again, clearer than before. The clanking of armor and billowing robes could be heard, trailing behind the voice.

"Mother?" she felt a hand on her shoulder. The sudden weight shook her out of her trance.

Casting one last look at the heavy man, she turned to stare at her 'son,' and the three Flameguard behind him. Qyburn stood by Ser Steffon's side. "What is it?"

Ser Steffon leaned in and whispered in her ear. "We must leave this area. Lord Stark in on his way."

"Trouble, my Lady?" 'Crodell' asked, as he straightened out his stores of clothing presented on his tables.

"Nothing of concern," she replied, looking at him. "Minor business with the Alchemist's guild, that slipped my mind," a forced smile graced her face. "I look forward to doing business with you again, Crodell."

"And I you, Lady Azula," he nodded, casting a smile of his own. "Good day."

"Good day," she stated finally before heading out to the Alchemist's guild with Qyburn, her 'son,' and their guards.


	48. (King's Landing) Ned IV

(King's Landing 10/4/298 AC) Ned IV

"We shouldn't be out here, my lord," Jory warned. "There's no telling who has eyes where."

"Let them look," he replied. Their snowy white destriers neighed softly, while they maneuvered through the throng of the crowd. The Lord of Winterfell's eyes remained sharp, looking down towards the street to where his destination lay, the smith's shop. At his side was the captain of his household guard, Jory Cassel, Rodrik's nephew. Young and noble, a good man.

"What of news of Ser Hugh? Has he departed King's Landing?" he asked finally, eyes peering down a random alley.

"He has, my lord. The Lady Azula has offered him work at the Stannis Fort, from what he told me," Jory answered. "I would say the offer sounded fantastical for a newly made knight, but that is just me, my lord."

"Aye, traveling halfway across the world for fame and glory is a dream that sounds all too familiar," he said, the words reminding him of Robert and the conversation they had during the trip back to King's Landing. "Did he say what for?"

"No, my lord," Jory stated, the smell of roasted ham, from an unknown source, lingered in the air, nearly overtaking the city's rancid smell. "He only repeated what the Lady Azula had told him. Which was that she needed good, able-bodied men were to help protect the interests of the crown on the shores of Essos."

"Given the importance of the Iron ships to Robert's reign, I am not surprised," the words left him feeling uneasy, yet he knew not why. "She has spoken to me on occasion of the Stannis Fort, and her annoyance at having to rely on sellswords for its protection."

"A healthy outlook, I would say," Jory grinned slightly.

"Yes, what were her words again?" he lingered for a moment, remembering the conversation they had after the tourney. "'I do not trust men that can be bought. They are only a step up from turncloaks, and even then, just barely,'" he recalled, sharing her sentiments, as he knew Stannis had.

"You fucking slant-eyed cunts!" A voice shouted out somewhere down the crowded street. Space seemed to form around the men, allowing Cassel and he to move towards the commotion.

A squad of nine men, six armored in the full gold and black plate armor of Stannis' Flameguard accompanied a trio of city guardsmen, clad in armor similar to the Lady Azula. Two of the men bore the much-feared skull faceplates of Dragonstone, and all had red sashes with gold cloaks covering their backs. They escorted a thin disheveled man in iron shackles, down the Street of Steel, heading for the Red Keep. One of the men struck the cursing man in the stomach, causing him to keel forward.

"Silence criminal!" a man shouted, voice muffled slightly by his ghastly faceplate.

"That's enough," Commander Lee's familiar voice ordered. He was clean shaven and bore no helmet, a tidy top-knot revealing a few strands of silver, held in place by a two pronged red flame headpiece. A stern gaze lined his face _, 'similar to Stannis','_ the thought occurred to him. He looked every bit the part of the respectable City Watch Commander. The two holding the man, straightened him up to face the former captain of Stannis' household guard. It did not take long for the grimy man to gain his bearings enough to let loose a wad of spit towards the Commander, who deftly dodged, and followed up with a quick backhanded slap.

"You foreign shits," the man spat blood down into the street. "If Commander Slynt was still…"

"If Commander Slynt was still alive," Lee cut in. "He would have put my men and I on cistern duty, and paid us nothing for our work, while allowing murderers, thieves, and rapists free reign so long as they had adequate coin. Not this time, scum," the two men pull at the man's chains, before one took the unkempt man by his thin hair, and forced his head up. Lee came face to face with the man, and looked him in the eye as he spoke, "The law I will bring to this city is not as…'fluid,' as Commander Slynt had led you to believe."

"What is happening here, Commander? Who is this man?" he asked, taking that moment to stride up to them atop his destrier.

"Lord Stark," the three men replied in unison. Lee rose immediately and displayed his strange salute of palm over fist, before relaxing. He stood with his feet apart, and hands clasped behind his back, as the Lady Azula was prone to do when addressing others of higher position than her own. "This is Allar Deem, and he is to be taken to the black cells for questioning. He is one of the few remaining holdouts from Slynt's tenure as Commander," the stern man stated. "We have been made aware of a few that have taken to hiding within the capital, spirits know why they think they'd be safe within the city."

"We have friends," Deem looked up towards Lee, then gazed upon Jory and himself. "Powerful friends."

A hand cupped Allar's face and turned it back around. "I'm sure you do," Lee stated, kneeling down, and allowing his golden eyes to burn through the man. "However, unless your 'friends' names are King Robert Baratheon or Lord Eddard Stark, you have no 'friends' worthy of note. You would do well to remember that, _Deem_. Let this serve as a message to you and your paymaster that coin no longer holds sway over the law in this city. High lord, knight, or peasant, all are held accountable for crimes done within the King's domain. And as it turns out, one of those crimes happens to be _corruption_."

The man remained silent, staring into Lee's eyes before turning fearful, his face melting into a blubbering mess full of tears and mucus. Several people around them began whispering amongst themselves.

Jory's frown mirrored his own, as the Yi-Tish Commander released his grip in disgust, and rose to his full height. "Save your tears, Deem. You haven't even begun to face your punishment," golden eyes surveyed the small gathering. "Move along citizens," Lee waved the onlookers off, "City Watch business." He finally regarded him, after the mob dispersed. "With respect, my Lord Hand," Lee began, nodding his head in deference. "If you have anything to ask of this man, feel free. Otherwise, with your permission, I would wish to see him safely to a small cell. There is much work to be done before Slynt's stink can be truly washed away."

He spared a quick glance towards the shackled man, and shook his head, "Not at the moment, another matter requires my full attention. You may leave, Commander." Those words were all Lee needed before he gave his foreign salute and led his men away.

Together, atop their mounts, they watched Lee and his men continue their march to their destination. Several children followed alongside them, some with makeshift gold cloaks and wooden sticks. He turned his steed away, with Jory following after him. "What do you think of that man, Jory?"

"Uncompromising," Cassel replied simply, adjusting his reins to allow for a more comfortable grip. "A good trait to have when it comes to imposing law and order, my lord."

"Indeed," he let the ice come over his face as he thought of the man. Those thoughts quickly began to evoke the Lady Baratheon and the question he wished to ask of anyone with even a passing idea of the mysterious Lady of Dragonstone. "Jory, what are your thoughts on Lord Stannis' lady wife?"

"Truthfully? I am not sure what my thoughts on her are," a small hint of embarrassment seeped into his words. "I've heard the stories of her from the rebellions. Both of them," he clarified. "Savior and destroyer? Even the tales from the Stepstones paint her as a freer of slaves and slayer of monsters."

The hooves of their steeds beat softly beneath them, while he and Jory collected their thoughts. The silence stretched for some time before the captain of his guard spoke.

"I've broken words with her daughter, and the Flameguard assigned to her, my lord. The three of them embody discipline, honor, and loyalty. And all three speak of Lady Ursa's mother with nothing but the greatest of reverence for her."

"''Larger than life,' was the saying I believe Jun attributed to the Lady Azula once," Ned added.

"Everything that I've heard makes her seem like she emerged straight out of the Age of Heroes, and yet…" Jory hesitated, the words catching on his tongue. "She does not act like someone of her reputation would."

"The only time I remembered her acting accordingly was during the closing of the Rebellion. Her words had been sharp, more in line with the reputation she had only just begun to cultivate, but she was young and passionate. A scarce two years older than Sansa, now that I recall."

"Young and passionate?" the younger man questioned. "From the sounds of it, she seems as if she fully embraced the Baratheon words. 'Ours is the Fury.'"

He snorted in amusement. "Even with just seven months of marriage to Lord Stannis preceding her she reminded me of the King," he lingered for a moment on his words. "Although, I will admit, the years have seen her grow beyond what she had been in her youth."

"Perhaps her marriage, or maybe being with children, tempered her?" Jory suggested, eyeing the thinning throngs of people as they neared Tobho Mott's shop, on the Street of Steel.

"Perhaps," he looked up towards the largest house on the street. Two stone knights guarding the ebony and weirwood carved entrance to the extravagant home loomed before them. He dismounted, heading for the door to the smith's home, and knocked. "Wait here Jory, this will be quick."

"Yes, my lord," Cassel answered, eyes scanning their surroundings.

Several light footfalls were heard on the other side before locks clicked and a slim serving girl with bright eyes answered. "Yes, milord?" she squeaked, the door creaking open.

"I am Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, and I am looking for Tobho Mott," he answered with a small smile on his lips, so as not to frighten the girl. "Is he here at present?"

"Yes, milord, he is," her face darkened. "However, he is very ill. Taken to sleep more often than he uses his forge now. I will see if he is awake, milord," she let him in and shut the door. "Please wait here," she scurried up the steps of the large home and vanished around a corner. Several raised voices were heard before the girl returned. She waved him over, "Come, Lord Stark, he is awake now, but it may soon pass."

He trudged up the squat steps, hand around his sword hilt. The room he entered smelled rank, but he did not let it show. Despite the smell, the man lying on the bed held himself well, shirtless and with a large sapphire on a heavy silver chain hanging around his neck.

"Lord Stark," Mott spoke, beads of sweat running down his face. The smith looked up from the foot of his bed. "Come here girl, help me up," the slim girl raced to his side and lifted him up to rest his back upon the wall behind his bed. "Ahh!" he grunted. "Careful!" The man's eyes rested on his own. "Pardon my appearance, my Lord Hand. Have a seat," he gestured to the small wooden chair in the corner.

"You have my thanks, but I prefer to remain standing," he nodded.

"Girl, leave us," the smith barked, "and wait outside the door." The girl scampered out of the room and shut the door. "You know, Lord Stark, you are the second hand to come visit me, although it has been some time since Lord Arryn's last visit," he uttered. "He was a good man."

"He was," came his solemn reply as he looked upon the bedridden man. "That is why I am here. I was told he visited this place often, during his final days," he added, recalling the conversations with Baelish, of all people.

"He did," the man groaned, lifting his sliding body up once more. "Kept wishing to see the boy."

"What boy?" he neared.

"An apprentice of mine, a good boy. Quiet, but excellent in his work. Knew how to handle a hammer."

"Is he here?"

"No, my lord," the man answered.

"Do you know why Lord Arryn was so interested in the boy?" thoughts on the how the boy could be important swirled in his head, the books words reverberating within him. The words haunted him, etched within his soul, once he realized their importance, after reading them following Ser Steffon's feast.

"I regret to say that I do not know, Lord Stark," the smith reached for a small scrap of cloth and dapped at his glistening forehead. "Lord Arryn never showered my shop with his patronage, so I thought that he may have been interested in acquiring a promising new smith for the Vale or some such. However, the Lady Azula certainly seemed to think the boy worthy of acquiring for the forges of Dragonstone, along with half the better apprentice and masters working along the Street of Steel. I would assume to assist in the building of the iron ships?"

"Most likely," he supplied.

"She sought to hire me, at first, but I declined. I did speak well enough of the boy that she ended up taking him in my stead."

"Why did you decline?" Ned asked, curious on the reasoning behind Mott's choice.

"I only declined because with most of my competition gone, my services would be in higher demand, my lord. Not that they were low, mind you, but I knew that once I left this bed, I would grow to be quite the wealthy man with many orders to fill," Mott coughed, then cleared his throat.

"What did the boy look like? Who was he?"

Tobho looked at him, "he was tall and very muscled, with blue eyes and thick, black hair, and who he was before he came to me is none of my concern."

He remained standing there, legs as heavy as iron.

"You should go now, my Lord. Unless you have anything else?" he cleared his throat again. "My eyes grow heavy, a bit more rest is required before I am ready to work."

"One more question if you would allow?" he asked. "What illness has overcome you, Mott?" it felt impolite to not ask of the man's well-being, after his assistance in supplying him with much-needed information.

"I know not, Lord Stark," he shifted his body. "You should have seen me several days ago. I was far worse, all those missed opportunities to forge armor for the tourney, and let my art be seen. The Lady Azula has been kind enough to send one of her red priests with several healing herbs. They have done wonders to aid my unsettled stomach and lessen the constant sweating."

"I appreciate your assistance, Mott," he excused himself and left the home, passing the slim girl as she rushed into the room to see if the smith needed anything. He emerged from the home and saw Jory atop his horse.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Possibly King Robert's bastard son. However, a trip to Dragonstone will be necessary to confirm. I must go and speak with Lord Stannis and Lady Azula," he mounted his white horse, gently spurring it on towards the Red Keep, with Jory following closely behind.


	49. (Dragonstone) Cressen III

(Dragonstone: 10/4/298 AC) Cressen III

"I was only absent for a moment before those two boys started fighting again," Tima stated plainly during the personal afternoon meeting she had requested of him.

"Kai and Takkar?" he questioned, already knowing that those two would always find themselves at odds.

"Not only them but the whole class."

"Who started it this time?" he tried hiding his exasperated tone but knew that he failed.

"Most of the students say it was Kai, but you know as well as I, that Chang's runt always talks first, but never throws the first swing," she answered, back straight as she sat in the carved wooden chair, with the golden tasseled, sumptuous red cushions. "When I returned, the only one who stood by his side was the Tyrell girl, and a few others, but the majority of students were part of Takkar's so-called 'Young Dragons,' and they held Kai to be at fault."

"Kai is stubborn, but he does have a good heart," he stated. "His loyalty to Ser Steffon is without question."

"But Takkar is another matter entirely," Tima added in a huff. "Chang may not treat the boy differently from the others, but for some reason, the boy thinks himself untouchable," the statement hung in the air uncomfortably long before he spoke.

"You are their instructor, are you not?" he questioned the young Fire Nation historian, the bones in his fingers aching as they lay upon his desk. "It is not your duty to discipline them when they disrupt your teachings?"

"With all due respect Maester," Tima replied, hands on her lap. "You are the High Educator of the Grand Academy. It should fall to you to put an end to this ceaseless arguing. You act with the authority of the Fire Lord, the Overseer, and Lord Stannis."

"Yes, I am the High Educator, and I am thus charged with making certain the material studied are educational, and the instructors act accordingly. The discipline of the students, especially those with 'the gift' fall to the instructors first, then the Overseer, then the Lady Azula."

The historian shifted in her seat and looked to him. "One boy is the son of a fellow instructor, while the other is best friends with the Fire Lord's son. How am I to proceed in punishing them?"

"Why must we always have this discussion instructor? Out of all the instructors at the Academy, the students of your class always seem to be the most disruptive. Why is that?" He knew she was passionate about her heritage and the history of her home country, but as clever, as brilliant as she was, she was far too timid to assume a hard stance against children. She held her own against adults well enough, perhaps too well, but for whatever reason, children would often take advantage of her soft approach to them. "Chang, Zha-Leng, and Chi-Ha never have problems with their own classes, why do you?"

A small bit of fear, and anger, rose in her eyes before passing. "I will not be harsh with children. That is all. Even if one is arrogant and the other is headstrong."

"If this problem continues," he warned. "Then the Overseer will correct it, and if she cannot, then the Lady Azula _will_. If you explain the problem to me, then I may be able to help you overcome it without involving the Lady of Dragonstone."

She sighed, "I do not want to give up on them or for them to look upon me with fear. I allow them more freedom than the other instructors, but they…"

"Take advantage," he answered for her. "Of course they do, they are young men and women nearly full grown."

"I do not wish to be like my parents, maester. I will not abandon them for others to deal with," she seemed surprised the words had left her mouth, but once they did, she became resolute.

"You still resent them for what they did?" he asked. He had hardly known the two officers, near Chang's age, disciplined and astute, but rarely did they speak to those not of the Fire Nation.

The torches in his office flared a bit before settling down. "Of course I do! Everyone crows on and on about how lucky I was that my parents were stationed aboard 'the Ozai' with me, but they don't' know," she answered, looking down. "Mother an…." She began, correcting herself halfway through, eyes watering. "Rilla and Pise had no right to toss us aside! They should've taken Rina and me with them to the Stannis Fort."

"It was Lady Azula's command that sent them away," he stated in a soft tone, already having slight regrets in asking for further information.

"I know it was Fire Lord's command," Tima replied coldly, staring at the large twin portraits of the Lady Azula and Lord Stannis mounted behind his desk. "Whatever the Fire Lord commands of her people, we have no choice but to follow."

He remained silent, thousands of thoughts entering his mind on how to reply, but uncertain of how to word them. As good of an influence the Lady Azula had been on Stannis, he knew well enough that she did not accept her own people questioning her commands.

"I know it was to further and ensure our people's futures," Tima continued, a knowing look in her eyes. "But what of mine and Rina's? It's a bitter irony," she chuckled darkly, looking at him. "That I teach about the greatness of what I hold dear, knowing that same 'greatness' led to me acting as a mother to my sister."

"Why do you not write them? Or requested a transfer?" the question seemed obvious, but Tima's expression turned to disgust.

"I don't want to see them, hear them, or even read their words," she hissed. "The last words they left me had me live through months, years, of Rina's cries. I had just begun my fourth year of teaching and Rina had begun to attend her first classes. She looked so happy, so excited to learn, to meet the other children," she sniffled. "She returned home, a smile brighter than the sun, and saw me waiting for her at the door, and not our parents. Her look afterward nearly destroyed me."

"I am so sorry," the words that left his mouth were far more genuine and understanding than she was capable of knowing. "The waters and lands near the Stannis Fort are known to be dangerous. Perhaps they were trying to protect you and your sister?"

"Protect us? That place is evidently not 'dangerous' enough for them have stopped having children. They did not even write to me about having my brother, Zida. I had to learn, through Steffon, of my new brother. They could not even spare the time to tell Rina and me. To the spirit world with them!"

"Is your sister of similar thought?"

Tima hesitated for a moment, deflating at the mention of her younger sister. "No. She still cares for our parents. Far too kind a soul for her own good. She has hopes of transferring the Stannis Fort once she graduates, to see our parents. I pray to the spirits that she does not learn outright how much they do not wish to be with her, or I."

"Then perhaps you should learn to let it be?" he suggested, the back of his mind aware that the room had slowly begun to get hotter.

"No! I will not! She may have forgotten, but I have not. Do you know what is like to answer a child's question, your own blood, about why your parents abandoned you?" Tima asked, hands at her lap once more. "'When they would return?' 'Why did they leave?' 'Do they not love us?'"

"I do understand," he replied. "I've answered those same questioned before, for another child, not of my blood, but a child I cared for as one of my own. But that was long ago, I doubt he remembers. Or perhaps he does? I do not know."

She looked up, from her hand, "Who was he?"

"A frightened boy, a boy with questions, and doubts. Forced to grow up far more quickly than he should have," he responded solemnly, Stannis' young face flashing before him.

Tima nodded her head in understanding, likely having heard the story, and put both together. They sat there in silence for quite some time, contemplating their discussion, and the reason for Tima having come to him.

"I have told you why I am, how I am, with my students," Tima said finally, returning the conversation to the original reason she had asked for the meeting with Cressen. "Do you have any suggestions for assistance?"

"I could have Chi-Ha, or perhaps Zha-Leng, stop by your class every now and then to keep your students in line," he answered, knowing it would be difficult to have happen, but possible if he really wished to see it through.

"No, it would take away from their own classes," she replied, golden eyes unsure as they once again rose to stare at the twin portraits. "I will not have the entirety of the Academy be brought down simply because I cannot keep my students in line."

He turned in his chair to stare at the portraits, first at Stannis' then at Azula's. He analyzed them, thinking to himself on how Stannis' face was rigid and commanding, but whose eyes held a certain softness, despite his stern face. The Lady Azula's, however, was all command, all fear. Her eyes held no softness, despite how beautiful her face was, hers was not a portrait commanding respect and discipline, it was portrait demanding fear and obedience. "Instructor Tima?"

"Yes Maester Cressen?" she answered expectantly, likely hoping for an answer to her predicament.

"Do you have one of these in your classroom?" he questioned, looking towards the portrait of the Lady Azula.

"No, High Educator, I do not," she replied, somewhat confused. "Most portraits are kept in the main meeting areas of the Academy, and on every wall within the Administration building, this office included."

"And in those places within the Academy where a portrait of the Lady Azula is placed, do the children act as they do in your classroom?" he looked to her as she contemplated his words, the realization hitting her shortly thereafter.

Her eyes lit up, "No, maester, they do not." She looked to him, then to the portrait, a frown growing on her face. "But, where would I acquire one? The Fire Lord has not had any new portraits commissioned since the ones sent to the Scorching Bear Academy."

"I could do to part with this one," he suggested, pointing towards the painting. "I do not need a portrait of the Lady Azula to keep me in line. I know where my loyalties lie," he cast a quick glance towards Stannis' portrait.

"But the Fire Lord," Tima stated in a scandalous tone. "She…"

"Can always have a new one made. She does not have the habit at visiting me here often. As a matter of fact, the last time she came here was to see the portrait mounted on that wall," he stared towards the space where the portrait hung. "That was six years ago."

"I am unsure," her voice seemingly shuddered at the idea. "What if…"

"Do not worry," he reassured her, turning back around to look her in the eyes. "If the Fire Lord asks, I will take responsibility." He knew if the Lady Azula ever found out, she would be livid, but in the end, it was just a portrait, and even Stannis' Lady Wife would find it pointless to argue over when another could be made.

"I cannot ask that of you High Educator," she leaned forwards, eyes pleading with him, hands wringing at her dress.

"I do not like doing this, but I could order you to take it," he felt uncomfortable giving commands, as he was trained to give guidance and advice, not orders. "I may not be charged with disciplining the students themselves, but the instructors are to follow my commands. Especially if it contributes to the educational materials being disseminated efficiently and effectively to the student body."

He saw her mulling things over in her mind, seemingly having a debate within herself. "Very well, thank you High Educator," she replied at last, somewhat unconvincingly, he noted. "How am I to transport it?" she looked towards the grand portrait, causing him to turn to face it yet again. "It is fairly large, almost as tall as Clegane."

"That it is," he replied, staring into the painted golden irises. "I will have a few of the Flameguard move it. It should be in your classroom tomorrow before sunrise." He turned to face her, "If your students ever get out of line again, point to the portrait."

Tima nodded, looking to him and reciting the words written in Fire Nation script at the upper left corner of all the portraits of the Lady Azula. "To disobey this portrait is to disobey the Fire Lord, and disobedience is not tolerated." The young historian looked upon the Lady Azula's painted eyes, and bowed her head, presenting palm over fist. "Long may you reign."

"A strange saying," he commented.

Tima looked to him, expression unreadable. "It is an old saying, said for all Fire Lords. The Fire Nation has prospered under their leadership since the start of their rule, and the phrase grew out of the need for the people to see them have a long, fruitful, reign."

"You are the historian of the Academy," he stated, the chair creaking slightly as he edged forward. "I have read the history of the Fire Nation, in so much as your books and stories can convey to a man such as myself, but I have never had the opportunity to speak to someone personally on the Fire Lords themselves. Would you care to enlighten me on them?"

"You have access to the libraries, maester," she replied. "The reigns of Fire Lords Ozai, Azulon, Sozin, Caozun, and Yuzin, are well-known, as is the schism between the fire sages and the royal line. What knowledge could I offer you? Knowledge of Sozin's comet, or Caozun's expansion? Perhaps Yuzin's reformation? Or…"

"You were assigned to 'the Ozai,'" the statement was plain, as it was obvious, and it needed no flair in delivery.

"Yes," she replied cautiously, letting the end of the word linger a little longer than it should have.

"So then, I take it that you met the Lady Azula's father, your previous Fire Lord? Ozai?"

"Fire Lord Ozai," she corrected him. "And yes, I did, but then again so did the rest of the crew," she stated, her confusion evident upon her contorted brow, before the realization set in. "We've spoken on this before haven't we?"

"We have. You were younger, quieter, and more reserved. Distrustful of everyone around you. But those times seemed to have passed somewhat haven't they?"

"Perhaps just a little," the smile was gentle, though it did not reach her eyes. "Is that why you haven't asked the others?"

"Both the Lady of Dragonstone, and the Lady Mai, as well as most of the original crew of 'the Ozai' still shy away from speaking about them to an 'outsider,' as it were," he raised a brow at the quaintness of the word.

The young woman appeared to mull over the idea, before speaking. "We were all brought to his throne room. All three hundred of us, in groups of twenty at a time. Chang, Lee, and Xai Bau were amongst my group when Fire Lord Ozai gave us our, I suppose you could say, final orders?"

"The orders to protect his daughter?"

A slight look over came her, "Yes. We were personally chosen because of our skill, our training, and our loyalty…" a shadow came over Tima's eyes, as she looked to him. "Some were as young as I, others were not." Tima paused, looking towards the portrait. "We were the best, and so long as we were with the Fire Lord, she would be safe from harm," she finished, a slight stutter creeping into her suddenly soft voice.

"Why did you hesitate, just then?" he leaned in, curiosity getting the better of him. He was a maester, after all.

The woman blinked, seemingly at a loss for words. "You have never been brought before the Fire Lord's father. His presence was…different, from his daughter's. His final order was absolute, and it was…" once more the portrait loomed in on her, it's reflection in her eyes, the fear growing slowly within them. The wise historian melted away, a lost child taking her place. She saluted towards the painting once more, hands shaking, and began muttering, "Long may she reign. Long may she reign. Long may she reign…"

"What was his order, Instructor Tima?" his chair creaked, and all other sounds ceased.

The historian's eyes grew wide. "Apologies High Educator, but I must leave," her words were quick, as she rose in a rush, eyes lingering on the Lady Azula's painted image. "Gratitude for the portrait," she bowed, hastily retreating through the door.

"Instructor Tima?" he let out a half-hearted shout, and waited several moments, before acknowledging that she would not return. "How odd," were the only words he could muster, as he turned to gaze upon the painting, watching its still eyes as they bore into his own. "What kind of man was your father?"


	50. (King's Landing) Xai Bau III

(King's Landing: 10/7/298 AC) Xai Bau III

A soft, thick, cushion lay underneath his crossed legs, doing little to comfort him as he sat in the upper balcony of the tea shop. An empty cushion, intended for Lee, lay next to him. The low burning candle placed on a small table at his side, provided just enough light to reveal nothing of his face, save his lower jaw. From his shadowy alcove, he watched them, all of them, as they came and went. The red priest servers acted as his eyes and ears, just as he and those that shared a position in the Fire Lord's counsel acted as her own.

His gaze focused upon a trio of Lee's men, bearing gold cloaks, the door's bells jingling as they entered, and came to sit at a table near Burning tree portrait.

The three men removed their skull-faced helmets and set them aside. "Priest!" one of them, a captain, recently promoted if memory served him right, called to a nearby server. "A pot of Ginseng tea, a few lemons, and some roasted duck," the captain looked to his comrades. "What about the rest of you?" He asked, and the men hesitated.

"A cup of Jasmine tea," one said, tugging at his collar.

"Me, too," the other added timidly, his body obscured by one of the pillars which lined the room.

The captain grew a scowl, eyes falling flat, "It's on me…."

The table grew silent a moment before it exploded into a cacophony of orders. "Chicken dumplings! Fried squid! Ooooo! Tart pie! And…."

"That sounds good enough," the captain cut in, silencing the two men, and sending the server away, as he took off his gloves.

"Nothing of interest," he said to himself, thinking on the Fire Lord's Flameguard. Those of the non-Repurposed variety were regulars to the shop, and every four days he would see a familiar face, as they rotated their visits there, some in the early hours, others midday, with the last coming late in the evening. Never more than three at a time. All were based within the Fire Lord's manse near the Old Gate, numbering thirty-six strong. He lingered on them for a moment before turning towards the last group, the one that most interested him.

' _Outsiders,'_ he narrowed his eyes. A group of weasley Riverlanders huddled beneath the red glow of the hanging lanterns and talked a bit too loudly, while the Myrish traders by the corner window spoke too softly. The Dornish prince and his paramour whispered things in each other's ears as they drank their wine and observed the activity in the tea shop. A brief glance had the Dornishman raise a glass to him. A Pentoshi tradesman with colorful robes sat alone, pouring over ledgers, a pot of tea at his side. Finally, a pair of surly looking men at the far table, kept silent, looking to him and the rest of the workers. _'Hired swords.'_

' _No children, however,'_ he thought idly, noticing the lack of the Spider's little birds _. 'Seems the eunuch finally learned his lesson. Too many small boxes…'_

The hypnotic sound of the Tsungi horn permeated throughout the moderately sized establishment. A lithe Red Priestess named Sirianna, who reminded him of his daughter, played at the large, curved instrument native to the Fire Nation. Her long raven hair swayed to a hidden breeze as she enraptured the majority of the customers with the horn's soothing sound. Even the normally hot-blooded Dornish prince seemed to relax somewhat, placing an arm around his paramour, as they both reclined in their cushioned seats.

He rubbed at his temples, a small headache growing behind his eyes. The voice of the black growth still rang within his mind. _'Xai Bau…'_ he recalled its dark tone and crimson eye, before another voice, one of silk, spoke to him, pushing through the menacing memory that preceded it.

"Xai Bau…" the womanly voice beckoned, sounding near, too near.

Looking towards the candle at his side, he saw a red mask swaying within the low flame. "Enough of your whispers, witch. Be gone…" He gazed at the flickering light for a moment more, before he forced the flame higher and saw the mask disappear in a low sigh, his headache going with it.

"Maerros?" his deft hand gestured to his nearby red priest server, who quickly scuttled away from a steaming cup of recently poured Jasmine Tea.

"Yes, Grandmaster?" the man bowed, the golden cuffs of his red, Fire Nation-styled, robes draping over his clasped hands.

"Those men at the far table?" he nodded towards the duo of dangerous looking men below. One had broad shoulders, and a muscular build, while the other held thin, rattish features. Both wore passable clothing, but it did nothing to hide their meager beginnings as peasants, nor the daggers they had 'secretly' strapped at their sides.

The priest, true to his training, shot a subtle sideways glance down upon the men below before looking back to him, awaiting his orders.

"Offer them some Baijiu, or whatever piss they normally drink, on the house," he suggested. "If they decline, have them thrown out. If they accept, keep giving them free drink and food. Use the special 'seasoning' on whatever they order. Once they are drunk, escort them down into the cellar. Incapacitate them, and have them readied for transport to Dragonstone. Use the boxes labeled 'tea,'" he paused for a moment to let the instructions sink in. "We don't need another mishap like last time."

"As you command," the priest bowed once more and headed down the steps towards the duo, who eyed him with curiosity as he approached.

" _It appears Baelish and the Queen have yet to understand the message the eunuch has. Spies are not tolerated here,"_ he muttered to himself, spying the Dornishman casting inquisitive glances towards the red priest out of the corner of his eye.

Several others of the Red Faith, hurried around, pouring tea and taking orders. Potstickers, pork dumplings, whatever the patrons craved. The continuously steeping teas and citrus heavy cuisine kept the moderately sized tea shop from tracking in the city's putrid odor.

"Haha! Did you see the look on that cunts face?!" the group of Riverlanders laughed towards the back of the shop, near the window, and he sneered.

The sounds of the city, however, did not seem as restricted by the meticulously constructed atmosphere. The formerly run-down bakery had been purchased by the Fire Lord some time ago, during the wildfire removal process. Its crumbling stone walls and rotted ceiling were torn down and rebuilt from the ground up, in true Fire Nation style. Red wooden pillars ran down the length of the shop, thick red curtains tied with golden cords, lined the walls along with the satin and silk furniture, the crown jewel of Xai Bau's establishment _, 'the Eight Views of the Capital City,'_ remained mounted behind the Tsungi player.

" _Now that is a Capital City,"_ the Fire Lord would often say, during her secret visits. She usually bore the guise of another, either the Stork woman or any number of assorted red priestesses who 'loaned' her their likenesses. One thing would always assure them that the Fire Lord was present, the candle by his table would flare blue, for but a moment, hinting at the individual who had entered the shop.

The Fire Lord's chief architect, Merah, a somber, yet attractive woman, had come to survey the site and had drawn up the plans for the construction. Additional input from the Fire Lord had seen to it that a link was made between a lower, hidden, section of the Tea shop to the sewers. Several red priests kept the incense burning in the bowels of the shop to keep the stink of the sewers from creeping in through the unseen door. The lower section was where he and the others would meditate. After having informed him of the Fire Lord, and Lee's, impending visit, Steffon had taken to maintaining a silent vigil over the Burning Tree and the beast in the shadow. Two Repurposed guarded the young man as he meditated below, in the hidden cellar, while his Greyjoy comrade, sat watch near the entrance of the shop, busily eating away at his Char siu over rice, a bit of the reddish sauce dribbling off of his stubbly chin.

' _That boy needs a shave.'_

He continued watching, past midday, the Tsungi horn, and jingling of the door's bells adding variety to the chatter down below. The Riverlanders, Myrish traders, and the trio of Fire Nation Goldcloaks had long since departed, leaving only the duo of increasingly drunken spies, Pentoshi trader, and the Dornish couple. Several others came and went, not staying long enough to warrant suspicion. The Greyjoy ward lay atop one of the cushioned benches, using his ornately carved dragon bone dagger to pick in-between his nails, a cup of wine resting near him.

The bells jingled, and Lee entered, his two Repurposed Flameguard flanking him at either side. They locked eyes with one another, before he gave a slight nod of his head, signaling Lee to come up. The Dornish prince looked on in interest, his paramour placing a grape in his mouth. Lee and his guards moved through the shop with ease, the heavy 'thunk' of Repurposed footsteps accompanying them, as they entered the door to the back area of the shop where the tea leaves and food were stored. "Wait here," he heard Lee's muffled voice say. The wooden stairs groaned slightly as Lee came up, the 'chink' of his sword rubbing against his armor, was the only noise he made.

"Xai," Lee stated, coming around to him and sitting on the empty cushion, with his legs crossed in the lotus position.

"Commander. It has been some time since we have last spoken in person and not beneath the tree."

"It has," the Commander replied. "How did the extraction go?"

He remained silent, looking down at the patrons of the shop. "As well as can be expected, when dealing with that foul liquid. You were a few reasons shy of being picked to oversee that nauseatingly tedious project."

"Lord Stannis and the Fire Lord were insistent on having me teach Steffon the art of Fire Nation swordsmanship," Lee clarified, shrugging his shoulders. "The Fire Lord looks upon Piandao's teachings as far too valuable to waste. Besides, you weren't truly needed, in person, to teach Steffon meditation anyways."

"True enough," he tilted his head, as both of them looked out towards the tables below.

"So what of the Fire Lord?" Lee asked. "I take it she has yet to appear?"

"As far as I know, she has not," he answered. "Though I would not put it past her to have replaced one of my red priestess servers and been here since sunrise."

"I doubt it," Lee snorted, his hands resting on his knees. "This city is too…'involved' in itself for the Fire Lord to waste an entire day here. As it is, my arrests have been steadily gaining the wrong kind of attention. A gang of cutthroats tried to attack me in the alleys of Flea Bottom a few days ago. The Repurposed cleaved them all in two, but every day grows ever more dangerous."

"The tighter the noose, the more the victim struggles against it," he supplied, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

"They've grown used to the corruption, Bau," Lee sighed.

"Indeed," he frowned. "The Fire Lord chose you because of your resiliency and, not to mince words, your sheer stubbornness in following the letter of the law. If there is anyone who can burn out the rot, it's you."

Lee remained silent, glancing at the people below. His words having no doubt sounded familiar. "I do not regret, nor will I forget what our original mission had been Bau. Ozai is no longer here, nor does it seem like he will ever appear, so his last orders are wind. For all intents and purposes, his daughter is Fire Lord now, and nothing will change that. I will follow her as I did her father, and grandfather before her. As I would have followed Iroh had he not relinquished his claim."

The low hum of the Tsungi horn still sounded throughout the room, rising to the balcony and adding weight to Lee words.

"You still see Iroh's abdication as an insult?"

"Partly," he answered. "I followed him as we breached the outer walls, I saw his son die. Had Lu Ten's death not happened, Iroh would have been someone worth following. His abdication was a betrayal."

"You regret Ozai's ascension?"

"No, I do not regret the ascension of any Fire Lord. So long as they are of royal blood, it does not matter," Lee snapped, before calming himself. "Ozai was merely not the Fire Lord I would have chosen. He was a man of the court, he never saw battle, and he never led men, not like Iroh did. The General knew his men, knew how to lead them, and how to achieve victory with them."

"And how would you see our current Fire Lord?" he asked, curious on Lee's stance.

"She is both of them," the Commander stated plainly. "She has the experience of battle, the King's war, the Greyjoy Rebellion, and the Stepstones. In all three has she led men and won. She is worthy of following. And she also understands how to move within the stinking cesspool of a court this country has," a scornful look briefly overcame Lee's face, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"You've been speaking with Lord Stannis again, haven't you?"

Lee smirked, "Perhaps."

They sat together in comfortable silence, the Tsungi horn's melodious sound adding to their relaxation. The sun's light slowly began to dim, giving way to the night. The hanging lanterns still burned with their soft light, illuminating the patrons who began to leave, the Dornish couple and the Greyjoy boy the last amongst them. Steffon had remained behind, in the meditation room.

"Tell Steffon to be careful on his trek back to the manse," Theon cautioned, from below, before heading out with one of the Repurposed Flameguard assigned to protect Steffon and his friend.

The drunken duo had gone out back to use the privy and had never returned. The red priests cleaned, closing the window shutters, fluffing up the cushions and straightening the chairs and benches. The sounds of dishes lightly clattering together, as the workers washed them, rose from the kitchens.

"Grandmaster?" Maerros spoke after the staff had finished their duties. "Do you wish for anything else?"

"No, Maerros, you are all dismissed," he replied with a wave of his hand.

The red priest arched forward, and descended the stairs, relaying his orders. They watched the eight workers as retire to their sleeping quarters in the back room of the shop. The woman who had been playing the Tsungi horn, remained behind, staring at them.

The candle at their sides had flared blue, and he could not help but utter, "Looks like you were wrong, Commander."

"First time for everything," he retorted, watching the woman rise from her seat and stalk towards them.

"Stand aside," they heard her regal voice command the Flameguard below. Everyone, Repurposed or no, knew what her voice sounded like, and they all knew it was not to be dismissed. She ascended the stairs in silence, coming to rest behind them, seating herself on the chair that was deemed hers. They both turned to face her, her form still disguised as another, and bowed. "So," she spoke. "It appears I will travel back to Dragonstone sooner than I'd anticipated. I need to ensure that the both of you understand the necessity of keeping order within the city in my absence. I will not have all my plans fall to ruin because of a minor hiccup in my timetable."

"Of course, your majesty," they replied, the creaking sound of another pair of footsteps rising from below.

The waited in silence for a moment, before Ser Steffon revealed himself. The Fire Lord shot a glance towards her son, who replied, palm over fist, "Xai's daughter is overseeing the tree, and the two men have been, 'packaged.'"

The Fire Lord nodded, "Good," and looked back to address them, while Steffon relaxed and crossed his arms. "Lord Stark has asked me of the whereabouts of the King's two bastards, which I currently have in my possession on Dragonstone," she stated. "He wishes to see them, and I will happily oblige. Steffon knows of this already," the boy perked up slightly. "He along with his squire, and the Greyjoy boy will accompany Lord Stark and I to Dragonstone," she kept her back straight, crossed her legs, and steepled her fingers.

"I imagine Lord Stark will bring some of his household guards along with him," Steffon added.

"Yes," she replied, "the thought occurred to me, so I have made the necessary plans to counterbalance that with several of our own troops from Dragonstone."

"How many, your highness?" the Commander asked.

"'The Ozai' will be sent to ferry us back to my lands, while bringing a company of a hundred benders, commanded by Lieutenant Chi-Ha, to the city," the Fire Lord clarified in a frown.

"A hundred benders?" the three of them, Steffon included, replied in surprise.

"A good bender is worth more than a hundred Westrosi," she proclaimed, the pride and determination burning in her eyes. "Seeing as my husband, the Stark girl, and Lady Stork are to remain behind, I will not leave securing this city, or their lives, solely in the hands of the Repurposed or the regular Flameguard. So, the both of you, keep an eye on them. Should the Queen try anything, I want them all secured immediately, coordinate with Chi-Ha, and do not let news reach my ears that either of you has failed."

"We will not fail, Fire Lord," both he and Lee declared.

"How long?" Lee questioned.

"One week, at most, to get the requested troops ready, and my affairs here in order," she bore into Commander Lee. "How are we doing with the City Watch?"

"The purge continues at a steady pace, Fire Lord," he replied. "Your information has led to many of Baelish's creatures being taken into custody. Although, the Queen still has many of them in her pocket."

"Well, we cannot reasonably expect to arrest them without facing repercussions from Cersei. Best to keep her ignorant, and so long as her 'pets' remain out of a cell, then she retains her delusions of superiority. Which works out quite well for me. As for my _information_ , Baelish has been far too helpful as of late."

"Perhaps he sees the writing on the wall?" he offered.

"Perhaps," she pressed her thumb under her chin and index finger over her lips. "However, I'd be a fool to think he did not have some ulterior motive for giving away his hired men, and leaving them to the dogs."

"That man has no allegiance to anyone, save himself," Lee spat.

"You should keep an eye on him as well," the Fire Lord looked to them. "Should either of you or your men, catch him wandering around in the city, make note of everything he does."

"Word of caution," Steffon added. "He is a very slippery man."

The Fire Lord nodded, before looking back to the Commander. "If you needed to, how quickly would you and your Goldcloaks be able to secure the City?"

"Depends on the circumstances, your highness," Lee replied.

"Assume the worst," the velvet voice said, the chair creaking as she shifted her body.

"Bending?" Lee questioned, his eyes focused on the Fire Lord.

"Allowed."

"No more than two hours, depending on resistance," the Commander specified.

She clicked her tongue. "Too long. Make it one. As for you," the Fire Lord turned her attention towards him. "Upon my departure I want you to shift some priests to sewer patrol, beneath the Red Keep, just in case."

"As you command, Fire Lord," they bowed their heads.

"Good," she replied, rising from her seat. As they began to rise, the Fire Lord chuckled, "Oh! Almost forgot! The red priestess is at the manse, she will be escorted back in the morning. And speaking of escorts," the Fire Lord glanced towards her son. "Steffon, dear, care to join me on a leisurely stroll back?" she offered her arm.

"Of course," he smiled, taking her arm, and descending down the stairs. He and Lee watched them walk out across the now empty room, with Steffon's sole Flameguard behind them.

The bells jingled, and he remained alone with Lee atop the balcony. "I think I prefer being stared at by the beast."

Lee snorted, before placing palm over fist. "Rest well, Grandmaster."

He reciprocated the gesture, "And you, Commander."

Lee's descent was quick and quiet, his two Repurposed guards following him out of the establishment.


	51. (The Goldroad) Tyrion III

(The Goldroad: 10/8/298 AC) Tyrion III

He peered out from the carriage, head aching, catching the aroma of the recently passed rains and fresh mud on the wind. The sky was dull and grey, a few rays of light shining some distance away. "How much longer to King's Landing…?" He lingered on the question, trying to remember the man who controlled the reins.

The man straightened himself, understanding the pause, "Wode, my Lord."

"I'm not a lord, Wode," he moved to sit near the window of the carriage, passing a stack of books and parchments regarding the prophecies of 'the Prince that was Promised,' and his various names. Shifting the curtain aside, he slid the window open and looked out down the muddied Goldroad. Mountains ran down along the northern side of the path while a small copse of trees, and rocky outcroppings, lined its southern side. "So how long?"

"Two weeks, in favorable conditions, three at most should the weather turn," a throaty voice replied. The carriage shook as it passed over a small patch of rocky terrain, providing an unwelcome surprise after the long slog through the mud. A group of thirty men on horseback rode ahead of the carriage, leading a supply wagon, while six rode at either side of his carriage. The rest of his hundred-strong guard rode behind, some cursing the soggy ground.

"Speed is of the essence, and these conditions do not seem too favorable at the moment," he saw several men struggling with a wagon up ahead, its wheel caught in the muck. "I do not recall hearing much rain last night. Was there a flood while I wasn't looking?"

"Speaking plainly, my l….Tyrion," the man coughed, clearing his throat. "You did drink quite the ample amount of ale the night before."

"I'm fairly confident I've drunk far more in the past than I did last night," he corrected, looking towards the man seated on the other side of the window.

"With all due respect," Wode's deep voice added. "You opened the windows of the carriage and called everyone 'cunts,' even that traveling family of smallfolk while singing the 'Rains of Castamere,' and shouting about 'Azor Ahai.' The men thought you had grown mad before you put your head over the edge of the carriage and spewed your guts all over its side."

"Well, perhaps I was mistaken?" He felt a smirk grow on his face as he focused on the hunched man before him. Even in the haze of his mind, the readings on the prophecy, and the flickering candle by his table that last night, had shaken him far more than he would have cared to admit.

 _"There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour, a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him…."_

' _Nothing but grumkins and snarks,'_ he shook his head, not allowing his mood to darken.

"In any event, you did not seem to be very aware of the events transpiring before you. The storm passed quickly, but the rain fell in sheets for the hour that the rain clouds loomed above. We lost three wheels to the mud in the night, took some time to repair while you were indisposed."

' _Hmmm, I doubt father will be pleased with these developments. Speaking of which,'_ the realization hit him, far slower than he would have liked. "Any news from my father, or King's Landing, while I was… _away_?"

"Yes, my lord, a rider in the night from Casterly Rock," he answered, a soft gust of wind cutting through the carriage. "Her grace, Queen Cersei, has sent word to Lord Tywin that she will be sending Myrcella down along the Goldroad, escorted by Ser Jaime and Ser Loras, in addition to twenty Lannister guardsmen."

' _Jaime leading the escort? Hmmm, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised,'_ he shrugged his shoulders. _'She wouldn't trust anyone else to escort Myrcella, especially Loras, after what she had done to the serving boy, Coren,'_ the grim outcome of Ser Loras' short-lived romance with the boy haunted the youngest Lannister sibling. _'I should not have told Jaime. Still, how did you manage to convince Robert to send Myrcella away, dear sister?'_

"Lord Tywin has also sent word that another twenty men will be dispatched from the Rock to accompany us to the capital," Wode added, lightly snapping the reins as he did so.

"Reinforcements for the guards sent from King's Landing," he noted.

"Without a doubt," the man grunted, nodding his response. "We are to wait at Deep Den, a day or two, giving the extra men time to approach our caravan," Wode clarified.

"Wonderful news! I can finally sleep in a proper bed and not this slab of wood," he exclaimed, slapping a hand down on the cushion of the poor excuse of a bed laying at his side. "Did the message say when the princess would be departing from King's Landing?"

"No, my lord," Wode responded. "However…"

"Wode?"

"Yes, my lord?" he asked, cutting his own words short.

"Nevermind, go on," he sighed in defeat, realizing Wode had not given up saying, 'My lord.'

With a nod, the man continued, "Given the delay in communication, I fully expect to encounter them at around the time we reach the Blackwater Rush. Little more than a week out, not counting the time we spend in Deep Den."

"Might as well stop now," he said suddenly, the ale from the night before had made its presence known. "I need to piss," he looked out ahead.

"Of course, my lord," Wode replied, pulling at the reins of the four dark brown Palfreys leading the carriage. He felt it slow beneath him, before stopping entirely. "Halt!" a heavy voice bellowed, causing a few riders ahead to turn back towards the carriage.

"What is the meaning of this," one of the armored men closest to the carriage asked Wode. "We are to make for Deep Den in three days."

"Lord Tyrion requires a place to make water," the gruff voice stated, looking towards him, before snapping back to attention.

"We are all men here," he raised a brow at the man's propriety, smiling as he did so. "You can say 'piss,' without reprimand, Wode."

The armored man with the deep voice remained silent for a moment before replying. "Yes, my lord."

"Good to hear. I assure you, this won't take but a moment," Tyrion stated, rising from his seat.

The rider gave them both looks before he rode out behind them, "Halt!" the man began shouting.

Tyrion slipped on his boots and threw open the door to his temporary home on wheels. The steps off of the carriage were specially made to allow him quick ascent and descent without embarrassing himself.

"Watch your step, my lord," Wode warned, his face hidden behind a full Lannister helm. The man's torso and head were turned towards him, watching as he moved down the steps of the carriage.

He clambered down the wooden steps causing them to creak under his weight, nearly slipping as the ale seemed unwilling to let go of his sense of balance. "Thank for the warning, Wode."

"It was my pleasure, my lord," the deep-voiced man bowed.

' _Now I have the feeling he is mocking me,'_ Tyrion chuckled to himself, landing upon the ground with a 'squish.' The mud rose above soles of his boots and made his journey to the nearby trees all the more difficult. After crossing a thicket of bushes, within shouting distance of the caravan, he rounded a large tree, undid his breeches, relaxed, and let the monster loose in torrents. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. "Ahhhhh. Maybe I should consider not drinking as much?" he asked himself.

"Or maybe you should drink more?" a voiced boomed, startling him and causing him to splatter piss all over his hands.

"Fuck!" he turned on his heels, fists at the ready, and his cock dangling between his legs for the world to see. There before him, stood a group of six men, along with two women, and a small girl. One of the women and the girl had seemingly turned away just in time. "Who in the seven hells are you?!"

"Travelers, my lord, but," the short, dark-skinned, fat man at the center of the group, cleared his throat where a chain with a burning heart lay. "If you be considerate enough to put that away, my lord?" the man looked down. "I would prefer it if my daughter were not exposed to such things yet."

He looked over to the girl who was still turned away, covering her eyes, with a mop of curly brown hair resting on her shoulders. A quick shove of his left hand saw his manhood back into their trousers. The girl and the two women wore loose, orange-colored leggings, with long strapped boots, red tunics laced closed, dusty grey undershirts, and all wore ruby chokers or necklaces. The men wore similar clothing only in slightly darker shades. They all carried small packs on their backs, and with no horses in sight, barring his own, he felt a small sort of truth behind the stranger's words. _'Perhaps they are travelers? Although,'_ he looked towards one of the women, _'that one looks remarkably attractive for a mere traveler.'_

"I trust I need not fear for my life?"

"Of course not, my lord. We are but nine and," the stout man started, looking out towards the caravan, "You are far more. Besides, we have no horses, we would be run down long before we arrived anywhere of import." The man caught himself, "My apologies, where are my manners? I am Gerros, and these are my children," he gestured to the group staring with the girl who no one had informed could now look upon him. "My youngest daughter, Tira."

"Can I look now?" she squeaked.

"Yes, little one," Gerros smiled. The girl began opening spaces between her fingers before removing her hands and revealing a rosy-cheeked face and large brown eyes.

' _She looks around Myrcella's age, though taller,'_ he observed.

A polite smiled lined the girl's face before Gerros moved on. "My daughters, Vella and Vorila," the two women bowed slightly.

"It's a pleasure, my lord," they said in unison.

"And these, young men, are my sons Jorys and Arelos."

"My lord," they men nodded.

As one, the family looked out towards the direction of his caravan, and he felt the ground shake underneath the beating hooves of several horses. He turned, seeing several armed Lannister men closing in on the group. "Are you well, my lord? Have these people harmed you?"

The horsemen surrounded the family spears at the ready. The little girl whimpered and stood behind the heavy man.

"No, they have not, lower your weapons." The mounted men looked at him a moment before lowering their spears. "Tell me, Gerros, where were you and your family headed?"

"To Hornvale, then Wendish Town, my lord," the man answered, voice not as confident as before, but only just. "We just came from Deep Den and cut across the country to shorten the trip. May have gotten lost in the hills, for a few days," a sheepish grin appeared on the man's face. "But we can survive in the wilderness."

"Well, you are survivors indeed," he looked down towards the man's necklace, recognizing the burning heart for what it was. "Tell me, Ser, would we be able to spare me a few moments to speak with this man and his family? You can use the time to have the men rest a bit and allow the mud to become easier to manage. Besides, what difference does it make? We are still going to have to wait for the men at Deep Den."

The man hesitated before he spoke, "Very well, but only a few moments. Lord Tywin has given us a timeframe of when to arrive at Deep Den. I do not wish to disappoint him."

"Of course not, and neither do I," Tyrion frowned and nodded his head.

"Do you wish us to accompany you back to the path, or leave guards?"

"That will not be necessary captain, however, I know you will insist even if I say no to guards, so leave them at the tree line where they can see me."

The men remained a moment more before departing to the edge of the trees. He felt the family release mutually baited breath. Tyrion saw the captain of his guard pause and order a couple of men to wait by the trees, establishing a clear line of sight between each other.

"So Gerros, tell me, who are you? Where are you from? The necklace shows you to be a man of the Red Faith," he sat down on the roots of a nearby tree. "Do you serve her?"

"I am formerly from Braavos, my lord," the fat man replied, moving to sit upon a large root opposite himself, with the rest of his family sitting down along the grass. "Travelled to Myr, with my family, before...before our ship was overtaken by pirates in the Sea of Myrth, and we were shipped to the Stepstones…" the man's eyes and those of his family's suddenly grew dark. "I do not wish to speak of this, my lord."

"Ser Steffon freed us, but was captured!" the young girl screeched.

"Shhh...Tira," the woman tried calming the girl, putting a comforting arm around her.

"No, I will not 'shhh,' Vella!" Tira countered. "They were bad men, who did bad things!" the little girl clenched her hands into fists as she shouted. "R'hllor was with Ser Steffon when he freed himself and saw those who hurt us put to the sword!"

"Tiranea!" Gerros boomed, causing the irate little girl to suddenly go quiet, with a frown on her face. They all looked to her before the short portly man resumed their previous conversation. "Apologies, my lord. Where were we?"

"The Red Faith. Do you serve her?"

"Yes and no. In spite of what you may hear, the Red Temple in Volantis is not the representative of my faith. No matter how much it likes to think it is. Though I hold no ill will towards it, the Red Temple is ultimately still a servant of the Lord, as are my fellow worshippers."

"I have heard that nearly half of the Red Faith has chosen to acknowledge her as Azor Ahai, is this true?" he questioned, having tried and failed to gather more information about the subject on his own.

"This is true, and given her miraculous appearance in Westeros all those years ago, it was hard to not see it as a sign. However, this religion is vast, with adherents stretching from Asshai to Braavos, each just as different in belief as the followers of the Seven here in Westeros, and everyone has their own interpretation of the signs, my lord. Of the prophecies, of the Lord's designs."

"And what is your interpretation?"

Gerros sat in quiet contemplation, seemingly choosing his words, before looking back to him. "Not all those of the Red Faith see her as 'the Prince that was Promised.' Some see her children as the prophesized savior. Some for her son, others the eldest daughter, and still some for the youngest. A select few even believe Lord Stannis is Azor Ahai."

"And you?"

"I have faith," the plump man looked to his youngest daughter, "that Ser Steffon is Azor Ahai." Tira crossed her arms and nodded her head in agreement. "We do what he commands. He saved us when he had no reason to. Lord Stannis, and the Lady Azula, they came to correct a slight, they cared not for the people enslaved there, but Ser Steffon did, and that is enough for us to see him as our savior, ensure our loyalty to his family."

"And what has he commanded of you?" the words left his mouth quickly. Out of the Dragonstone siblings, Steffon had captured his interest the most, especially now.

"To travel around the Crown, and Riverlands, assisting poor families with work, providing extra hands to till the fields, and see their family's needs met."

"How very altruistic of him," he spoke, thinking on Stannis' son. ' _Steffon is a sharp and well-read boy. A pity Joffrey is not like him.'_

"Do you try and convert the people you meet on your travels?"

"No, my lord. We but offer assistance, and if one wishes to hear the sermons of R'hllor, we are more than eager to share."

"Hmmm," he stroked his chin and looked towards the caravan. "It was a pleasure meeting you and your family's acquaintance, Gerros, but I best get back," he rose from the root of the tree.

"The pleasure was ours, my lord, farewell," the family nodded.

He trekked back through the trees, towards the waiting guards. "Let's go," he ordered. As he reached his carriage he looked back and saw the family in the distance going over the hill.

"Who were they?" Wode asked through the window, once he had scampered up into the carriage, and the caravan had begun to move.

"A family of travelers. Held to the Red Faith," he answered simply, looking out towards the horizon.

Wode looked to him, "Quite the long way from Dragonstone."

"They are not from there, originally."

"What were they doing traveling along the Goldroad, my lord?" the deep voice questioned.

"Gerros, the rotund little man, informed me that they traveled the countryside assisting smallfolk with tasks before moving on."

"Holy men on a righteous mission from their foreign god?" Wode scoffed, his body jerking to the side in response to a dip in the muddy road.

"Possibly," he looked towards his pile of books.

It grew silent for a moment before Wode spoke once more, "Do you believe them to be more than what they seem?"

"Yes."

"Spies then," the armored man answered. "Should I order some men to run them down? Did they say where they were headed?"

"No need, they were headed for Hornvale," he replied.

"Hornvale?" Wode paused, taking a moment to realize, as he already knew, the obstacles that stood in-between the family and their destination. "The bandits in the mountains…"

"Correct. The leftover brigands from Ser Loras' _'gardening.'_ "

"Clever, my lord. If they are the woman's spies, the brigands take the blame."

"I thought so," he smirked without mirth, thinking on the prophetic words of the book and Ser Steffon's role in them.

" _Reborn amidst smoke and salt…."_

' _The salt of the sea surrounding the Stepstones? The smoke of the burning docks? He ceased being a boy that day and was reborn a knight. But the bleeding star, what could that be?'_ he pondered on the subject, long and hard into the night, until sleep overtook him.


	52. (The Stepstones) Asha IV

Asha IV courtesy of Sensfan90. Thank you for your contribution ! =)

(The Stepstones: 298 AC) Asha IV (by sensfan90) _ **  
**_  
"What is the tally Wynch?"

"All the brigands accounted for, Shepherd and I will take our ships to Planky Town at first light."

"Good give our friend my regards, do not forget the wine or bloody drink it." The knight from Iron Holt grumbled but nodded nonetheless. Good, the matter was too important for such a simple thing. Looking out the window she shook her head at the difference.

Bloodstone had changed greatly in the years since she had last seen it. The seas were calmer, sailors less aggressive and even a few merchants were freely setting up shop. The land had come a long way from the lawlessness of her youth. The decrepit tavern she had remembered even looked as if it would not be out of place in Gulltown or White Harbor. A private room and a decent selection of food and drink. Really her fifteen-year-old self would have found it preposterous. The only thing that unnerved her choose to clad themselves in red. They seemed to be everywhere nowadays and spreading every year. Turning her attention to the latest pilfered book from the Fire Nation she could not help but question it. "The Battle of Sozin's Pass, rather bloody interesting."

"Never heard of it captain, name sounds aight wrong too." Drumm nibbled on his chicken but his eyes told her he was just as interested. A few members of her would be fleet were even less subtle.

"It was the greatest naval defeat in the history of the Fire Nation. A large and illustrious unit of their iron ships had found a major enemy stronghold along the coast of some fucking kingdom I never heard of. From what I read it was the primary base from which all enemy ships were supplied for a thousand miles. It had one interesting geological feature, however." A good number of the crew had turned to her at that, Fire Nation ships were damn near invincible.

"Come on Asha don't leave us wanting." Smirking at Botley's impatience she let them wait just long enough to be uncomfortable before chuckling.

"The natural harbor had a choke point between two inlets which naturally created a strong defensive position. After a short skirmish, the Fire Nation fleet managed to pass through with ease. Surviving officers noted it all seemed disturbingly easy. Sure enough, they triggered a landslide behind them."

"How much bloody dirt did they move?"

"The book does not say Botley and considering the technology the Fire Nation is known for I gather it was not as difficult as it seemed for their enemies as we might think. Regardless trapped in the entrance to the harbor the enemy sprang into action, fighting from every angle."

"Aye, chaos among the sea. Each Captain fighting to avoid ramming another ambushed everywhere, and I am sure they had scorpion like weapons in hand." Drumm took a long drink of ale after adding his own two coppers to the discussion, she wavered her hand up and down slightly in reply.

"More or less, though I find it troubling they so readily published such a failure."

"Think the tale is a farce Lady Greyjoy?" Baelor Blacktyde sipped his ale slowly after he spoke, his mind like usual more focused than the average Ironborn. She had come much to the same conclusion at first.

"I thought of that I admit, but frankly I see it as akin to the Butcher's Ball or Battle of the Lakeshore. Skill and numbers mean nothing if you find yourself outmaneuvered. It's a lesson taught to younglings to crush hubris." Finally sipping her ale, she noticed Volmark signaling at the door. It seemed their guest had arrived.

"Alright everyone, leave the room but stand guard like we discussed. No fucking screw ups you hear?" Her crew left without a word except for Baelor. Her brave knight it seemed had concerns, she would find it cute if it were not so unnecessary.

"I have to ask Captain, Bloodless Codd is a name despised by every Captain in the isles. Why the hell are we waiting for the scum?"

"Tom Codd got the name bloodless because he likes to make his coin and spoils through trade and less violent methods. It worked pretty fucking well. He is probably one of the richest men in the isles and his crew is probably the only Ironborn vessel where every sailor can read. He has been a favorite of my n"uncle for years. The man has ears all over Essos and the many islands in between. Where do you think I learned of those two-bit pirates we killed?"

"An information broker? Captain, they have those in Oldtown, more likely to sell you out the first chance they get, for a better prize."

"A good attitude Blacktyde but I am not so naïve. Harlaw is one of the few castles where he can enjoy his pleasures in his old home without worry. He will not lose such a particular vice over a few whispers. Besides he knows I am smart enough to plan for such things."

"Still there has to be a reason the Ironborn speak such foul things of the man, even for a member of House Codd." She laughed long and heartily at that remark, if only it were so simple. Noticing the queer look in his eye over her loss of propriety she calmed herself.

"There are a dozen tales of why Bloodless Codd is so hated. Some same he was a kinslayer, others a sister fucker and quite a few accuse him of being a greenlander in Ironborn skin. To say nothing of many men who are simply jealous of his riches. I, however, know the truth of the matter."

"Oh?"

"He probably enjoys the feel of a man in bed more than I." This time it was Baelor's turn to laugh loudly. Smirking she finally heard the footsteps of their esteemed guest approach. He had already delivered good information over her first request and she hoped he would be as accommodating for her second and third. Besides if her new partnership continued to be this fruitful she would have quite a bit of coin to spare.

 _ **Planky Town**_

 _The manse was quite the upgrade over their previous meeting, a good sign she supposed. A well-crafted table with bread and salt provided more so. Taking a sniff at the fine wine by her side she smiled at the choice. Casually and without the previous theatrics or ceremony Arianne arrived in front of her. Clad in expensive silks there was no doubt she was here as a member of her house. "Princess, I was delighted to hear you wished to see me so soon."_

 _"Lady Greyjoy, I thank you for your prompt arrival. I must admit I did not think your suggestion would move so quickly through Sunspear."_

 _"Your father has shown support?"_

 _"No, but he had made no move to limit my interaction with you either. My father is a cautious man, too cautious some would say but not stupid. He left me a few interesting documents regarding the Stepstones and a possible betrothal but little else."_

 _"I assume it is a collection of questions he wants answered. If I take care of them he hears nothing and sees nothing in Dornish seas unless it becomes a problem I take it?"_

 _"It does appear so yes, though recent events may make our mutual interests difficult. My Uncle and a collection of Martell retainers have left for King's Landing. My cousin also received an unexpected offer from Dragonstone. A minor noble house, the Seaworths have been granted land upon Crackclaw Point. They have offered it to Nymeria in exchange for her hand." She paused for a moment before the name registered, the smuggler turned noble._

 _"A son of the Onion Knight? So, it is a bribe from Lord or Lady Baratheon then. Has your Uncle Oberyn accepted?"_

 _"Provisionally he has granted permission to pursue the matter. He has left the choice up to his daughter, for now, I find myself undecided in this matter. I am sure you can understand why." She did, it was a simple question of pragmaticism over pride. Nymeria Sand was a bastard by birth but a Nymeros-Martell by blood. Some would say that she deserved more than a petty lord's hand. However dynastically she was sixth in line for inheritance and that assumed no children in the future from her various relations. To say nothing of a trueborn cousin within Dorne pushing for the claim. Perhaps Arianne planned her marriage to someone already, girls were still pieces to marry off even in Dorne._

 _"So, the Firelord has turned her eyes south it seems."_

 _"At the very least we must assume she has some designs on Dorne. If we wish for our partnership to flourish we will have to be more aggressive in building support. I have three points of interest on which we can do so." Nodding she poured wine for both of them as the Princess took out a trio of parchments to discuss._

 _"The first problem is a simple one, a group of bandits have been harassing the Dalt lands around Lemonwood for the past few months. They clearly have friends in Planky Town as the brigands always managed to escape by sea. If anyone can find a raider within a busy port it is an Ironborn."_

 _"One of our lesser known talents, the reward?"_

 _"An open bounty is on their heads as well as a generous prize from House Dalt themselves. My father wants them dealt with, I want the Ser Andrey and Ser Deziel to owe me a favor in the future." Nibbling on her salted bread she figured the goal was simple enough._

 _"Of course, you will refuse the prize from House Dalt themselves and simply take credit publicly as a show of support. The men and women of Lemonwood are already sworn to House Martell but you want them to answer to you personally or lose face."_

 _"I was paying attention Asha when you described how you built your small fleet." Tilting her head at the point she waved her hand to the next request. Bounty hunting was not exactly the first choice for the Ironborn but it was not frowned upon either._

 _"As you are undoubtedly aware the Stepstones have not been this peaceful since it had a dragon burning invaders. Piracy is at an all-time low and merchants have been rather aggressive in using the quickest route. Quite a few Dornish vessels have been pulling in lucrative contracts since the Baratheon fleet cleansed the area. That is until roughly a year and four months ago when several vessels began disappearing without a trace. Most of the court believe we simply got greedy and forgot the danger of those bloody isles."_

 _"Yet your father deals with an Ironborn, I suspect he has an informant who speaks otherwise?"_

 _"Obviously, you see all these vessels made it to Essos without a problem. They never made it back."_

 _"Pah, A double-dealing Magister or merchant. I hardly think Prince Doran needed my insight for that."_

 _"Perhaps but how do you explain those ships appearing in Oldtown, Lannisport, and Seagard?" Eyes narrowing, she leaned forward._

 _"Explain."_

 _"It took some time to confirm the ravens but there is no doubt. Veteran sailors swore by their mother's souls that they recognized the ships in the various ports. This is not a mummer's tale among children, battle damage and small details impossible to fabricate were verified. At least seven such instances have been noted." Arianne leaned back in her chair and casually flicked a loose hair of her dark locks. Seemingly now at ease with a small weight off her soldiers from the disturbing tale. She then sighed as she closed her eyes before continuing, "Missing men, stolen vessels, and a conspiracy. Any ideas?"_

 _"Little in truth, such a thing seems barely worth the cost. Stolen vessels are fine but outside of spoils or war you avoid using them in the same seas. Revenge is a powerful motivator for any captain. I know a man who has eyes and ears for such things but he will require a rather specific payment." Making a rather a deliberate shape with her hands she locked eyes, "One I am sure a Dornish noble can provide." To the credit of the Princess of Dorne, she did little but scoff as at her crude gesture._

 _"An expensive prostitute, really? There is a thing called racism and slander, besides a Princess, must maintain some standards. Questions will be asked if I inquired for such a thing."_

 _"Oh, I am sure one of your cousins at least could find the exact_ _ **stud**_ _I am looking for." She ignored the surprised look and the giggling from the Princess as she finally clued in, plans already forming in her mind. Codd was bloody mercurial and would expect nothing but the best._

 _"You would be right, very well I will arrange one for your vessel. The final matter if you do not mind."_

 _"The best for last I hope?"_

 _"One that is solely for information and should be rather simple. Bloodstone has seen a remarkable settling of outsiders from Essos. A large contingent of Red Priests seem to lead them. My father simply wants to know whom they serve. He could care less over freed slaves or would be petty kings. He wishes to know if they are connected to the Lady of Dragonstone." She smirked, her contact had setup shop on the same Island, saving her days if not weeks._

 _"And here I thought this trip would not be interesting. Alright, Princess Arianne on my word as a Lady of House Greyjoy I will endeavor to fulfill these tasks. Any questions?"_

 _"Yes, if you don't mind can promise that once more as a captain? Trusting the word of an Ironborn means more as a sailor than a lady." Blinking at the remark she chuckled, she knew there was a reason she liked the woman._

 _"Beauty and brains, gods help whoever you marry."_

Focusing on the opening door she made sure to remain still as Tom Codd entered their private room. The typical Greyjoy arrogance had to be maintained after all. Besides no reason to give a man known for a hard bargain any leeway in negotiation. He entered casually, a short but well-built man. He was a good deal darker than a normal Ironborn. Years of the Essosi sun combined with hard winds of the sea had formed deep lines in his face. He said nothing as he approached quietly, sitting down for his bread and salt before speaking.

"Captain Codd."

"Lady Greyjoy, I have your information as requested. I thank you for your hospitality, rarely do I get such finery in my deals."

"I am not my father Codd or any of my dead uncles. I can be flexible and kind when the time calls for it."

"Aye course you are, why else would the Snakes see to trust you?" She slowly slipped her hand into her chest at the remark, her hidden dirk within her fingers. "Do not be surprised, Ironmen are more pathetic than most. Bribing a few words out of them is not hard at all from their greedy mouths. Still, your crew and friends are a better lot than most and I actually needed a favor or two to confirm. Impressive for someone so young." Relaxing slightly, she leaned back, fingers at the ready.

"The ships Codd, what do you know?"

"Volantis is making too much money from the Firelord to risk supporting pirates. Even those whose houses contain envious souls would not partake in such a thing at this time. The Three Daughters' know they have spies in every alley and manse, so that leaves but three options."

"Braavos, Pentos and Slaver's Bay. I think we can agree the children of the Harpy are the least likely."

"Agreed, it is simply a matter of logistics. Too far to sail. Unfortunately, I could list at least four keyholders and six cheese and spice mongers who could profit from such a thing. My money though is on Pentos, your friend said they were only spotted on the Sunset Sea. Titan ships are far less frequent in the area versus the other children of Valyria."

"Still not a question of why or a hard lead. I will need more if you wish for more lucrative business"

"I will ask around, someone wants ships that lead back to the wrong place. Figure I won't find the one pulling the strings but only so many puppets can do this kind of thing." Slowly moving her hand from her chest she composed herself. So far, her mission for the Princess of Dorne had gone swimmingly, now for the final part.

"What do you know of the Red Priests within the islands? They kept to themselves as I took anchor but they made no secret of their power either." She tensed as Codd paled slightly at her words, that was rarely a good sign. A broker such as himself would know not to give anything away.

"Fuck, I knew someone would ask about that eventually. They started to show up years ago, right about the time of the Butcher. Problem is even for these fire lovers they are confusing. I see ravens, ships, and people go every which way. They could be an extension of the cult growing on Dragonstone or even the Red Harlot's crazy lot. Hell, they could simply be acolytes of the Red Temple, Stepstones is a nice little spot to buy and sell children."

"That is not exactly helpful."

"Listen Asha these fire lovers are every bit as dangerous as the Drowned men. A lot of them gave up on common sense a long time ago and few if ever talk. You learn more from what they don't say or do than how they actually fucking act. Having said that there is one thing I figure they are interested in." Codd got up and opened the closet, steeling herself she was incredulous as he pulled out a lute. He sat it down right beside them, playing loudly. Whatever he knew meant no eavesdroppers from his men or her own crew.

"I can't say for sure because he was always a clever and dangerous man but the Crow's Eye may be alive."

"The maddest of my family alive, truly?"

"Unlike the rest of the Iron Fleet, I figured the prick survived the rebellion. Our ships were crushed but most had at least some survivors. No one ever spoke of the Silence in any such fashion after the attack on the Westerlands. Eventually, someone with a heavy Greyjoy look made a stink here years ago. Big money was on the table, a dragon egg if you would believe it. Then the Flaming Stags showed up and it all went to hell. Scuttlebutt says he died for real after getting his ass kicked. Some fierce woman if the tales are true. Either he has the stranger's luck or he is just as cowardly as he is sadistic but the whispers are increasing over his apparent life. If nothing else someone is using a ship that appears remarkably like his own around Valyria and the Basilisk Isles."

"Well as entertaining as that was I have but one question, why did he want the egg?"

"You misunderstand Asha, the egg was the price he was going to pay."

A small shiver of fear moved through her at those words. "Who or what could be worth a dragon egg? Not that I would believe for a moment Euron would keep to his word."

"Now that is the question of which rumors abound. The greatest rumor being of surviving Targaryen royalty. The last child of former Queen Rhaella. A girl, if words be true, named Ivory."

"Targaryen royalty?" The question was why, what the hell did he possibly have to gain?

"Well then Tom, it seems we may have a problem."

"How so?"

"They say my dead uncles were mad to support such a war like the rebellion. They say my father was madder for ever thinking he could win. Euron they all agree he was the maddest of them all. Unfortunately, they also said one thing that separates him from his siblings."

"Oh?"

"The man is not stupid."


	53. (Winterfell) Ursa IV

(Winterfell: 10/8/298 AC) Ursa IV

"Move your feet, Arya," she chastised the little wolf from Winterfell. The winds were cold, sweeping through the empty courtyard, with the sun still below the horizon. Jon and Brienne sparred nearby, while Jun meditated on a stone platform by the stables. "You're not a bender, don't plant yourself. Someone your size needs to conserve their energy, do not spend it with futile attacks," the girl shot forward, swiping at her feet with a wooden training sword, forcing her to sidestep the clumsy, though not entirely unskilled strike. "Dodge always, strike rarely, but effectively," she smacked Arya's rear with the flat of her own training sword, causing her to stumble forward, but not fall.

* * *

 _"Move! Be fluid in your strikes! Channel your power! Do not disappoint me!" Stern golden eyes surveyed her every action, finding inefficiency everywhere._

* * *

"Ouch!" Stark's youngest daughter rubbed her backside and frowned in disappointment. Arya arched her body, curved her arm back, and pointed the wooden weapon forward, her palm to the cross guard. One of the Fire Nation stances Lee had shown her, she had passed on to Arya. She resumed her own stance, aiming the point of the training sword down, and stretching her free arm up and outward, fingers pointing to the sky.

"Have your opponent move, have them exhaust themselves trying to get at you. Rest assured, Arya, any opponent you face will be far larger than you and will tire far faster. When the opportunity presents itself, attack, and do not grow overconfident." Her young friend scrunched her face, determined to take her down.

* * *

 _"Mother, I can't, please let me rest," her lungs burned, struggling to take in air. Her arms and legs ached, threatening the give out against her wishes._

 _"You'll keep going until you get it right!" the shadows cast by the blue flames hid her mother's face. "Your brother's failure has our people questioning the future of our leadership. Of my leadership!"_

* * *

"Hyah!" Eddard Stark's youngest daughter shouted and charged forward, moving far more fluidly than she had been only months ago. As carefully and skillfully as the girl moved her sword, her moves were still painfully obvious.

* * *

 _"Pathetic! Again!" the flames flared, bathing the audience chamber in ominous azure light._

* * *

 _'Still,'_ she thought, dodging Arya's strike and countering with a tap on the shoulder. _'It's still a far cry from the bumbling northern girl I met a little over three years ago. She learns quickly.'_ Catching Arya as she strained forward, Ursa darted to the side, leaving her foot out, and using the girl's drive to cause her to trip and fall forward. "Do not overextend. Always leave yourself an avenue of escape, should your attack fail. Use the environment to your advantage. Like so," using the tip of her wooden weapon she flicked some snow onto the girl's chest.

The wolf girl looked down, shaking off the snow from her padded armor, before returning her gaze with a questioning look.

"It would not have taken me much to have sent the snow into your eyes, or cause the roof you are standing under, to have collapsed over you," she glanced up and saw Arya do the same. The girl looked at her and then realized the wooden supports surrounded her, and not herself.

"Your environment is as much a weapon as the sword in your hand," she spoke, the sounds of Jon and Brienne sparring still resonated in the background. Nymeria came around from behind her and lay down on the loose hay scattered along the training grounds. "You need only learn how to use it. Again."

* * *

 _"Ahhh! It stings! I can't see!" she stumbled along the floor, failing to rub the burning powder out of her eyes._

 _"Stop whining!" the room grew hot, and her sweat dripped down into her eyes, causing the powder to burn even more. "Your opponent will use whatever they can to end you. You must learn to fight with any and all handicaps that you may encounter! You will not embarrass me by dying to some barbarian who throws dirt in your face!"_

* * *

Both combatants retook their stances and resumed their sparring session. This time, Ursa noted, the littlest northern lady became far more cautious. The wolf at Arya's side seemed to be more attentive than usual, casting a queer gaze to her as Arya stalked forward. Back and forth, the girl paced, hunched low and waiting for a time to strike. "Nymeria, you are of no help…" Arya smiled. A quick look to the wolf revealed only a yawn, before it lay its head down.

* * *

 _"Who did this?" his rough hands looked so graceful, tender, as he bandaged her scrapped knuckles._

 _"My training is difficult father, but I…" she fought off the tears in her eyes, not wishing for him to see her weakness._

 _"No! I will break words with your mother. This will end," his eyes had grown dark, furious._

 _"Please father! Do not confront mother. The training makes me stronger. I want to be strong," she pleaded, a single tear escaping from her eye. "Strong enough to make her, to make you proud of me."_

 _"I am already proud of you Ursa, you needn't prove anything more," he grasped her face, and tenderly kissed her forehead._

 _"Please, father," she looked up into his dark blue eyes, the promise of safety only a word away. "Don't."_

* * *

Ursa stepped back, analyzing her surroundings. _'Loose hay on the ground, piled logs, archery stands, nothing out of the ordinary.'_ She stepped lightly and measured her movements, her hair flowing in the breeze. A faint odor tickled her nose, indicating something rancid lay nearby. "What are you up to little wolf?"

* * *

 _"Mother? Will you train me now?" she stood by, watching her mother 'play' with the brat._

 _"Not now. Go with Chang," she replied, without so much as a glance in her direction._

 _She saluted, and walked away, hearing the words she had always wanted to hear directed towards another._

 _"Who's my little flame? You are! Yes, you are!"_

 _"Gah! Burrb!" Ty Lee cooed._

* * *

"Nothing much," Arya smiled, inching forward, as the sounds of sparring between Jon and Brienne ceased. "You won't get mad if I knock you down right?"

The warning bells began ringing in the back of her mind, as she waited for Arya to attack, but no attack came. "If you did, I'd be proud of you," she couldn't help but smirk, realizing what the smell was and what the small Stark girl was doing. "Though I would most definitely not go easy on you the next time."

"Really?" Arya stepped forward, and Ursa retreated near the place where the girl wanted her to be.

"Really," she kept her face straight and saw Arya take the bait.

* * *

 _"Show no mercy to your enemy, princess…" Chang stood away, bowing in respect as their spar ended._

 _"I will remember that, instructor..."_

* * *

The she-wolf struck forward, dodging to the right, as her own sword came down. _'Let me lead you, little girl,'_ she pursed her lips, struggling to keep her grin hidden. Arya slashed, and she let herself grow closer to the smelly warmth that resided near her feet. The upward slash came, causing her to draw her chest and head backward, the air of the swinging sword wafting over her face.

"Ugh!" a small foot connected with her stomach, and she keeled forward, grasping at her abdomen.

 _'Well done.'_ The following leg swipe came as she knew it would, intent on driving her back over the steaming pile. Instead of dodging the attack, she let it sweep her over, positioning her hands forward and using the momentum from her fall to wrap her legs around the girl and flip her over head first into the wolf shit. Arya's descent into the stinky mess was prevented by her own merciful hand. She held the underfoot's head inches away from her pet's droppings. "Be careful about using too much force, in your attacks, without concern for direction, or possible counter," she stood silent a moment, allowing the Stark girl to take in her advice. "That said, your little ploy was clever, but sometimes subtlety or lack thereof can mean the difference between success and failure."

* * *

 _"The match is over. I yield," her aged instructor lay at her feet, leg burned and broken, with his sole uninjured hand raised in defense._

 _"No. 'Show no mercy,' wasn't it? You will get up, and fight old man!" she stalked forward, and the man had curiously shown no fear, only cold indifference. This angered her, and she pressed forward, summoning a flame into her hand. "You will learn respect! You will learn that you are no longer the second best firebender in this world!"_

 _"Ursa!" her mother's voice destroyed her resolve, and she stood down, hand hesitating only slightly._

* * *

"Okay, okay, let me up. Let me up!" Arya pleaded, her breath short and ragged.

She released her grip, watching as the girl rose and patted herself down, brushing some bit of snow off her leg.

"I'm glad you've taken to your lessons well. Perhaps next time you'll impress me enough to have me consider giving you a place on my personal guard?" Arya's eyes lit up, a smile growing on her young face.

"My father may require some convincing on that front," Jon stated, walking up to them as they rested.

"Besides, I am sure Lady Stark will require far more convincing than Lord Stark," Brienne supplied, rotating her left arm to relieve whatever tension she had built up during her spar with Jon.

The small wolf's face changed into a frown at Brienne's words. "Brienne? Please do not ruin this moment, and you didn't require much convincing," Arya replied, casting a knowing look towards Eddard Stark's bastard.

"I swore an oath to protect Ursa from harm, I swore an oath to House Baratheon of Dragonstone, before the lot of you revealed the truth to me," Jon shrugged, though a hint of annoyance shone in his eyes.

"It was necessary, as it was with me when I swore to Dragonstone. Most do not have the luxury of knowing the truth, for the simple reason…" Brienne started.

"That the greatest enemies of my house rule over the lands containing the former high seat of the Faith, and the Citadel itself. Both of which whose reach, power, and influence are far greater than it would outwardly seem," she seethed, understanding the need for secrecy, though annoying her nonetheless. "My mother has not been blind to the history of your people, Jon Snow. Not just the northerners, but Westeros. She understands what happens when foreigners arrive, with their strange gods, practices, or powers. Any, who threaten the stability of the established order, are met with fear and violence. First, it was the Children against the first men," she looked to Jon. "Your ancestors pursued a war of extermination until a measure of peace was achieved. Then the Andals came…"

"You forgot the Others," Arya chimed in, a sudden cool breeze accompanying her words.

"Yes, 'the Others.' Perhaps the greatest case for the necessity of secrecy my mother has against Westeros," she stated, adjusting the straps on her crimson training garb. "Ancient wildlings the tales of which whose nature has been greatly exaggerated out of proportion. To the point of being seen as demons." A ghost of an expression marred Arya and Jon's faces. "They were wiped out, or driven from the lands of 'normal' men. What does that say about your people, Jon Snow? When my people number in just over one thousand," she thought only on the benders. "And yours number in the millions, how could my mother afford the risk?" Once more she looked to Jun's beloved, "Tell me, when Jun revealed her flames to you what did you feel?"

The Bastard of Winterfell stood silent, before speaking. "I still cared for her," she saw him look towards Jun's small form, atop the stone platform, "but I was afraid."

"And how different would your reaction have been had you not known her?"

At that, her newest Flameguard remained in quiet contemplation. "I do not know," he finally said.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. Know that my mother will reveal the truth, one day, when the Westrosi people have come to recognize us as no different from themselves," she reassured, before a dark thought entered her mind, _'I only pray that the revelation is not met with war, otherwise, Westeros would burn…'_

Some light shuffling sounded out behind them, as Jun finally emerged from her meditation, and jogged towards them, an intensity in her eyes. The Grandmaster's daughter scanned the area to confirm they were alone before she spoke. "Your brother sends word from the capital," she whispered, looking at her, as they huddled together.

"Arya? Meet us in the great hall, we will be there shortly," the wolf girl appeared unsure before she raised her left fist and pounded her chest, nodding in acknowledgment. "What does my dear brother have to say?" she grumbled, watching as Arya skirted past the library tower and the old well until finally disappearing under the stone archway leading to the Great Hall.

"Lord Stark appears to have plans on heading to Dragonstone with the Fire Lord, and Steffon," Jun answered, clasping her hands behind her back, as she reported to her superior. A brief quirk of her brow marred her face for an instant, "Theon too, I suppose, but who cares about him?"

"My father?" Jon asked, as his right hand came to rest on her second smallest friend's shoulder. "Is he well?"

"He is, my love," Jun smiled slightly, glancing to Stark's bastard before returning to focus on her.

"Did he say what for?" Ursa raised her eyebrow in minor interest, bringing her arms to rest over her chest.

"'Urgent business,'" was all he said," Jun stated, looking around once more. "It also appears a company of a hundred benders, commanded by instructor Chi-Ha, will be sent to replace the Flameguard the Fire Lord will take with her."

She spared a glance to Jun, remembering the name, but never having been the woman's student.

"The instructor? Whatever is happening in the capital must be serious if your mother has roused Chi-Ha from Dragonstone," Brienne noted.

"Still nursing that bruise Brienne?" Jun stated, whispering something about the instructor into Jon's ear.

"Several bruises, in fact. However, I am not complaining, she was a good teacher," the tall woman from Tarth grunted.

"If you say so," Jun turned to continue her impromptu verbal report. "Anyways, the Imp is also on his way to King's Landing and Princess Myrcella is being sent to Casterly Rock with supposed plans of betrothing her to Ser Loras."

"To what end?" she wondered, head filled with reasons and possible plots. Her mother was never one to make such large moves or allow such large moves to happen, without cause, especially one that would risk exposure.

"As you have said, the Reach, and the Tyrells in particular, hate your parents, Ursa," Brienne stated plainly. "Perhaps it is merely a way to wed the Tyrell's closer to the crown and mend the injuries they suffered in the war?"

"Possibly, but you are forgetting one thing," Jun countered. "The Lannisters also hate the Fire Lord. She's overshadowed the Queen and Lord Tywin and more than one occasion. They may not outwardly show their disdain, but they could be planning to counter her influence within the court with this marriage. They might even go as far as replacing certain Small Council positions?"

"They could certainly try," she hissed, the torches surrounding them flared a moment before dying down. "Hmmm, but still," she relaxed, lifting her hand to her chin, and thinking on the time when her mother had come to Winterfell with the King.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Jun's light voice shook her out of her memories.

"Just remembering an odd occurrence, nothing more."

"What does Ursa Baratheon constitute as 'odd,' I wonder?" she pressed, flowery golden eyes focused on implacable molten ones.

She drew in deeply of the cool air, "When the King came to Winterfell after Lord Arryn's death. I was taken by my mother to train near the Broken Tower." A sharp intake of breaths awakened her to her Flameguards' distress. "Simple martial arts and breathing exercises, no bending," she reassured to mutual exhalations. "I expected nothing of interest to occur, but after were finished our first set my mother took me around to the entrance of the tower," she paced, chewing on her nail, as she spoke. "Where we saw the Queen and the Kingslayer emerging from within."

"What were they doing?" Jon questioned.

"I do not know, but the Queen did not look pleased," she answered truthfully. "Although," she paused, "I have a feeling my mother understood what had been transpiring in the tower to unsettle the Queen."

"My father does not think too highly of the Lannisters," Jon supplied, his expression growing grim. "Do you think my father and the Lady Azula have uncovered a Lannister plot?"

"That started in Winterfell? Possibly, and considering my mother's investment in the North, with Lyanna's Bay, and the Mormonts, and myself," she choked out the last. "I would say that if they have, she is trying to keep him safe by moving him out of the city."

"Why not tell the King, if they suspected anything? Why Dragonstone? King Robert is Lord Stark's best friend. Surely anything he would have to say would be accepted in King's Landing," Brienne's logic had been sound, though Jon thought differently.

"Whatever plot this may be, I do not believe my father would move on it unless he was absolutely sure."

"Then whatever evidence he needs will be on Dragonstone," she stated, confused on what lay hidden in her home that Lord Stark would need to know. _'Unless my mother wishes to reveal the truth about the bending?'_

The winds whipped through the Courtyard, as they stood in silent contemplation.

"Seriously, what is with the Lannisters and plots?" Jun's voice rang out, shattering the quietness.


	54. (Dragonstone) Maege V

Maege V courtesy of Sensfan90. Thank you for your contribution ! =)

 _ ****_  
 **(Dragonstone: 298 AC) Maege V (by sensfan90)**

"Give me a moment cadet, the Firelord has requested some works for personal review. There is to a be a play that the entire academy will _be expected_ to attend. I have spent the past hour choosing the best selection possible."

Kneeling patiently, she was immediately curious. As far as she knew the Firelord was not one for such things. "If I may ask Instructor, what works?"

"Old plays and ballads; _The Conquest of East and South, Sozin the I, My Friend/My Enemy, Last Breath, The Final Companion._ I doubt you've heard or read any of them, the avatar, the villain is a subject matter that is rather complicated to explain to someone from Westeros."

"He was a bender then? You do not want the people to know about the gift?" The woman stiffened at her question before relaxing. Whatever this Avatar was they were surely an enemy of great terror.

"Exactly cadet, exactly. The world must never know of the Avatar lest they get the wrong idea."

Frowning at the thought of such a horrible man she focused on why she approached the Instructor in the first place. Dragonstone was quiet for the first time in what seemed like ages. With the spectacle of the Fire Festival in passing the people of the Fire Nation fell back into a well-travelled routine. The students returned either with glee or dread in their classes. If they were able, a degree of freedom was given. If they proved themselves incompetent only the harshest of instruction waited them. One did not fall behind in the Fire Nation even if they needed to be dragged.

Though she was easily above such dangers the past month had put her world into focus. More and more her lessons diverged from her sister and cousin. Perfection was the standard, not the goal. She dreamed of the sweet encouragement of her mother, yet only heard the sharp sounds of orders and demands. The drills and stances continued until she could not take it. She needed a way out, one that would not bring dishonor.

"I have to admit that I am flattered young lady. No cadet has ever asked that I take one on as a personal apprentice." Clad in her uniform, Instructor Tima was the model of Fire Nation Citizen. Her hair perfectly pulled back into a tight ponytail with her uniform crisp and free of any stain. Her desk immaculate and sparse, only single book seeming out of place.

"Lady Rina always speaks so well of you Instructor Tima, I believed you were the best person to ask. Maester Cressen could aid me as well but I cannot bring myself to bother a man of his age and responsibility with such a serious request. Ever since the night of the Fire Festival I have been thinking of my life. Of how I wish to live my life among my people."

"Forgive me Lady Mormont but I had thought your destiny was obvious. Has your mother birthed a second son?"

"No, though I would not be surprised if mother and father wished for another child. As for my destiny, I am aware I will be married someday if that it was you mean. I do realize I will join the Navy in some capacity, Commander Zha-Leng informed me himself. The material I have been given after the standard classes also suggested what the Firelord wishes of me." Instructor Tima nodded with a queer look in her eye before opening the book she had brought to the table. With great care it was placed between them, the older woman delicately trailing her left hand on its bindings.

"Do you know what this is Lady Mormont?" The candlelight revealed a large tomb, the color of obsidian. It had golden threads along the bindings with a burning stag woven into cover. She had read many books and seen many more in her life but never one created with such care as this. The reverence Instructor Tima gave to even the lightest touch of its surface filled her with wonder.

"I have never seen such a book Instructor."

"It is the history of House Baratheon of Dragonstone. It is the history of Firelord Azula and her family. From the day we arrived in this world to the moment the Lady Ty Lee finished first in her class it was recorded. This book represents my life, my dedication to the Fire Nation and all our history. I hold this book in regard second only to my sister, do you understand?"

"The Lorekeeper, the Historian of the Fire Nation is not a simple task. It is a great duty and honor." Already she feared the insult had doomed her. This was not going as she had planned at all." I…I am aware you are busy and important. I know you probably think I am looking for an easy way out of my station."

"You are currently the only combustion user on the planet Lady Mormont. I know exactly of the weight upon your shoulders, anything but what the world expects of you would be the easy way out." A thought occurred to her, of answers her father barely gave. The woman would know the tales and stories as well as any person alive.

"Is it worse than they tell me?" A flare in her aura told her as mush as the look of pity….it was worse.

"The greatest Firelords in our peoples' history could control combustion on a whim. I do not exaggerate to say some men and women in these halls would bargain their children to spirits and gods to have your power. Yet combustion is spoken in the same ilk as the wielders of lava and water tendrils in are world's lore. Potent abilities just as likely to kill oneself as an enemy." Tima stopped to sip a bit of tea, her eyes hardening as her eyes drifted above her own to the green and silver third eye. "You did well during the games of the festival did you not? I seem to recall my sister came home with quite the purse."

"I am do not see why that matters…"

"How many cadets not named Kai and Takkar could best you battle?"

"What?"

"I asked a simple question Lady Mormont. In fact I will make it easier, barring the graduation class who truly threatens you?"

"Well in school I could say…"

"Perhaps I need to be blunt, how many firebenders?"

"Two, three if you count Lady Ursa."

"You know I do not, she beat Commander Chang as a girl. She completed her academic studies years ago even if she never attended a graduation ceremony to celebrate. As a warrior I gather only the Firelord herself proves her superior. You are dodging the question Lady Mormont, your answer!"

"Ty Lee has the skills to beat me I am sure. Though I win our spars more often than not I can see her improving every time we fight. Cadet Aemon is assuredly my better if the fight came down to endurance. He is stronger and taller than I as well."

"He is nearly a man and almost two years your senior but I can understand your reasoning. So, without combustion you are already a bender of worth. Yet you come asking me for a decidedly non-combat position. As I said I understand your burden but I find myself questioning your reasoning. Are you looking for an escape or are you looking for an excuse?"

"Father wants me here, mother wants me here, the Firelord practically ordered me here! There is no escape what I want is a choice. Do you know what my sister did this morning?"

"Train, eat, read?"

"She spent the day with my cousin Lyanna and her friends in the market. She did not have to spend more hours meditating among the Red Priests. I always figured my training was harder than my sisters. Now with the changes between semesters I realize how much. I am not being trained as everyone else, I am here for something more and it scares me! When I arrived, it was just a few extra lessons, now it is an entire different schooling!" She felt the tears fall on her face as the last words escaped her lips. Several days of despair and frustration finally escaping her. With blurry eyes she looked towards the Instructor once more, her stoic reaction to her plight oddly comforting. Wordlessly Instructor Tima closed the book and returned it to the shelf. With barely a glance she grabbed a much smaller book with a shapeless scarlet red cover.

"Did Rina ever tell you of the day the Firelord trained her class personally?"

"No…I am sure I would have remembered her speaking of it."

"Before she became more invested in the governance of King's Landing the Firelord would regularly surprise the men and women of Dragonstone with her presence. There would be no demands, no orders or even goals. She merely appeared and assumed all would do their duty."

"I am guessing some did not." A thin smile formed on the older woman's lips at that remark, she flipped open the red book to a picture. A thin golden ribbon with black edges was glued to the parchment.

"Once perhaps but never twice. Cobblers, Smiths, Sailors, Engineers and Instructors were treated equally. She never spoke a word against them in public of course but behind closed doors…"

"Punishments and ill tidings. Mother and father do much the same thing with some of their officers back home."

"I am not surprised in truth, more than a few officers adopted her approach. As it happens on that particular day your sister's namesake joined the bending class in leading them through their stances. From the way Rina tells it the Firelord could correct more forms with an eyebrow than her teacher could in the entire year."

"Was she that good of a teacher?" She had never met the Firelord in person but she had received more than one letter in her hand. The details she knew of her life were frightening, the perfection of her advice even more so. When Ty Lee spoke of the work the tutors put into her instruction she had no doubt the specter of her mother still overshadowed their every move. She could only wonder what divine standards her personal instruction would feel like.

"Rina was young and memory can be twisted with time. In all likelihood the presence of the Firelord merely helped them focus where before they could not. By the end of the morning class every student but one had met her expectations. To say some of the parents were overjoyed after was an understatement." Given the sheer look of reverence some of the older students gave her portrait, she could believe it.

"What of the one student who did not?"

"She came home, put her head in my lap and cried a flood that could sink Valyria. I have never in my life seen my sister so heartbroken, not even when our parents left, I am sorry when they were reassigned to the Stannis Fort."

"How? Rina is one the best firebenders I know!"

"How indeed? She thought much the same. The day after she woke before dawn and approached Chi-Ha to give her extra lessons. She worked harder than I ever thought a young girl could for weeks. Until one morning when she finished her stances and found the Firelord had observed her without knowing. She congratulated her for mastering the stances for the following years class. This hair ribbon, one of her own in the rare times she forgoes the royal headpiece, was given as proof of her accomplishment."

"Wait, the next year's class?"

"Rina did not actually fail in the weeks before with the Firelord looming over her every move. She was already the best in her class and the Firelord knew this. Not an hour after she visited the Instructor she was given the extra work in order for her to grow at a rate that matched her talent. That day my sister learned that the Fire Nation despises stagnation. A loyal citizen under the Firelord is always expected to improve their ability in which to advance and enrich our people." With a sigh Instructor Tima removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Her voice had become sharper and her body tighter.

"You have made great strides with your bending and the faculty is treating you accordingly. All firebenders serve the Firelord _before all others_ and _we are all_ expected to give our fullest. Even one whose talent for the flame is as pitiful as I." A small red flame escaped her nostrils, the sparse heat a sign of its weakness. "You are being given the work because the Firelord believes you are ready. By all accounts your only brother lacks the flame and thus leave Lyanna's Bay for you to rule in the future. Dragon's Cove itself demands a benders touch in any case. Until the day you inherit your station I doubt you will ever be free in the way you seek."

"Then what can I do?"

"Accept it, embrace your path in life. You are still young and I am sure the world seems so much harsher than it will be. Give it a few years, where your skill will give you great power and opportunity. When that time comes use all that they have given to take control of your life. Make no mistake, there are those who will treat you as a tool, a Cyvasse piece on a board, one to be honed and improved until it can be used. It will be up to you to ensure your freedom."

"Thank you Instructor Tima, your words have been very helpful. Just so you know, I was serious in requesting an apprenticeship." With complete sincerity she slammed her fist into her palm, bowing far lower than was proper. The Instructor nodded her head in response before quickly closing the red book and placing it back on the shelf.

"And I believed you when you asked. Rina has spoken at length of her positive experiences with you. I believe she even requested a placement in Lyanna's Bay if she could not be posted with our parents. The book I showed you was one I made for her own journey. Like you she worried over her own future, to her great credit she has made a name for herself. Now, before you leave Lady Mormont I have one last piece of advice." She moved forward only to kneel in front of her. Softly she placed her ring finger on her forehead, slowly tracing its touch along her third eye.

"You are Maege of House Mormont, your family history greater than many of the Fire Nation can ever hope to match with their own. Embrace it, make the world remember where you come from. Your cousin has the right of it, your blood has a grand history that gives you strength. You are not simply the spawn of some officer, you are a fierce bear. A mighty young woman with a soul forged from the countless triumphs of the First Men."

"Thank you, my lady, no one of Dragonstone or the Fire Nation has ever spoke of my mother's blood with such kindness." A sharp laugh escaped Instructor Tima, who demurely composed herself after she spoke.

"I am a historian my lady, all experiences and events have meaning no matter how some may wish to ignore. How else would we have arrived to the present?"


	55. (Dragonstone) Margaery IV

(Dragonstone: 10/8/298 AC) Margaery IV

She felt like she was flying as she flipped down along the grassy field, the wind coursing through her bushy bundled hair. And Kai, ever overprotective, spared a glance or two in her direction as a brother would. Two of the heir of Dragonstone's closest friends drilled side by side, near the flowered hill. The Tyrell girl's acrobatic forms, and the young firebender's stances complimented one another and made them appear to be locked in a rhythmic dance. Both of their young bodies glistened with sweat, and training vests damp from exertion. The expectation of hard work breeding quality had been drilled into them by the Academy. The harsh requirements of Margaery's schooling had long since become so comforting, so necessary, that she felt lost without it. Her taut sculpted body was proof of her reliance on the rigorous athletic routine.

"Be careful, Margaery," Kai warned, taking a stance and thrusting his fist forward. A ball of flame shot forth and sped towards a mannish looking straw and cloth target Kai had arranged earlier.

"I've done this set more than a hundred times, Kai," she grunted, as she positioned her feet once more, and squatted down. She felt the power in her legs yearning for release before she let loose a series of eight backflips, ending in a split position with her hands between her legs, which kept her body just inches off the ground. "See?" she smiled, shifting her body forward. Margaery curled her legs over her back and rotated her arms to accommodate her weight before she planted her feet on the ground and rose up like a snake.

" _Don't sweat it, Margie, you'll get the hang of it soon," Ty Lee's soft voice comforted her as she dusted herself off following a tumble into the dirt pit when she had attempted a handstand._

" _It's too hard. You make it look so easy," she huffed, reviewing the soft, lightly muscled frame of her instructor._

" _Me being this good did not happen overnight, Margie. Took years of practice," Ty Lee replied in her happy tone, leaping high into the air and rebounding off of the padded training pillars lining the modestly sized dojo._

 _Her eyes stared in wonder, hoping one day she would be as good. Before she knew it, Ty Lee landed atop a Wing Chun, hand straight, body balanced. There, her teacher remained, held upright by a single outstretched hand, no swaying, no sweating, no signs of discomfort at all. "Wow," was all she could muster._

" _One day, Margie, you'll be able to do this, no sweat." Ty Lee smiled her bright smile, and leaped off the Wing Chun, landing perfectly before her. "But until that time, let's get this handstand straightened out. Shift your weight a bit," she urged, performing a handstand of her own. "Like this."_

 _She inhaled, raising her arms to her chest, and puffed up her cheeks in determination. She shifted her weight forward, and swung her arms in a headlong arch…_

"No matter how many times I've seen you do that," he started after stealing a quick look. "It never stops looking extremely painful." Kai returned to pumping his fists forwards, ducking and dodging against an invisible opponent.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it," she assured him, as she twisted her torso to smooth out a bit of soreness. "Ouch!" she felt her back muscles catch a bit. "More or less…" she grinned, stepping forward and reaching down into her black leather, rucksack to withdraw a plump water skin nestled near her small brass telescope. She smiled at the small stargazing instrument, before relishing a cool refreshing drink from the academy issued water container.

" _Keep them safe,"_ she remembered being confused when Steffon had spoken to her on the pier the night he had left for King's Landing. When she had returned to her quarters from the docks, two recently polished brass devices had been awaiting her, with a letter that read;

" _I remember your stories about the nights you, and the lady Ty Lee would stare at the stars with only your naked eyes. I, Steffon Baratheon, do hereby apologize on behalf of my mother for the restrictions she had placed on telescopes in your youth. I am sure she would have regretted her decision if she knew how much her friend had enjoyed her times watching the night sky with you._

 _Only the finest materials went into the crafting of these two. Please enjoy them with my blessing._

 _Ser Steffon Baratheon, Heir of Dragonstone."_

One was large and mounted on three legs, while another was small enough for her to carry. Both were made from polished brass and embossed with a rose and vine pattern. The lenses had been made by the Fire Nation glass smiths on Dragonstone, who used their bending to make glass clearer and far more quickly, and efficiently, than even their glassmaker counterparts on Myr. Whatever dealings the Fire Lord and Nong had with Myr to prevent animosity, Margaery knew not.

"Care for a spar?" her innocent voice uttered, eyes batting playfully.

"That's not going to work again," he answered, still focused on his own series of kicks and jabs, with bits of firebending sprinkled in between every other normal strike.

"Oh come on, Kai," she pressed. "You're fun to spar with, and you always keep me guessing. It makes every fight with you a learning experience."

The young firebender stopped, and looked at her before he relented and let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, but you know the rules, no Chi-blocking. I don't need to be added to the list of people you have made shit themselves…"

"That was an accident, and only one time!" she drew back, her face growing red. "Greyjoy, he…I didn't know hitting him there would cause that!" Sweat began to trickle down along the arch of her back, causing a slight shiver against the cool wind sweeping up from the sea.

"Haha," Kai snorted in between parched lips. His knees gave way to a sudden fit of laughter and he collapsed, his bottom cushioning his fall.

She blinked and couldn't help but giggle, knowing the firebender and the Ironborn ward had a taste for mocking each other. "Hehe, maybe he deserved it. He was being a bit of an ass," she rested her hands on her face, in an attempt to hide her mirthful tears. They both stood beneath the midday sun, enjoying each other's laughter. After a moment, Margaery lowered her hands, crossed her arms, and frowned, watching as Kai's final bouts of merriment subsided.

"Margaery?" he raised a brow, and rose, brushing off the back of his light red leggings, which were smeared with spots of dark green from the crushed grass. Kai's face hid a ghost of a grin that desperately sought to escape.

"Stop mocking me… _peasant_ ," she replied, attempting to present the sternest expression she could. Her voice, though slightly off, still held the type of harshness the Fire Lord had been known to use when displeased. "It's impolite to laugh at high born ladies, _Ser_ ," she stated.

"Apologies," he nodded, a grimace descending upon his fair Yi-Tish features. "There is no need for beating a dead horse, _my lady_."

She quickly realized her error and sought to fix it. "Forgive me," she lowered her eyes then looked back to her friend. "There is no shame in having a mother who cares about you, Kai. I think it's sweet that she didn't let you sneak away to the Stepstones with Steffon and Theon," her firm look melted away, and she smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hmph, you don't know her. I love my mother," a soft look came over him. "But that woman still treats me like a child," he continued, crossing his muscled arms along his training vest. A smoldering look graced his golden eyes as he spoke, "It doesn't help that people keep mistaking me for a knight. By all rights, I should have been there with them, side by side, as we cut down those pirate scum." He let loose a deep sigh before a soft grin emerged from the deep scowl. "A reminder of an overprotective mother is better than the glory of knighthood, I suppose."

"You'll always be a knight to me," she assured him. "Besides, I'm sure there'll be other chances." Catching the beginnings of the smile, she tiptoed to him and began speaking in a motherly tone. "Where is my little Fire Nation officer? There he is!" she pinched his cheeks, grabbing what little baby fat had remained on his chiseled face.

"This does not amuse me, Margaery," he stood straight-faced, cheeks stretched between her pinched fingers, waiting for her to break. Soon enough he gave in and joined her in amusement once more.

"Say what you will of her, but she's brilliant," she stretched her arms into the sky, before arching them back and bending backward as much as she could. Her body formed an arch, while her hands touched the ground behind her head. _'I don't know how she made it look so easy…'_

"So everyone tells me," he shrugged, lunging forward and lowering his hips until his knees had both been fully bent. "What would she say?" Kai wondered, before he cleared his throat, and began mimicking his mother's voice. "You repair one tank train, and suddenly everyone expects you to be able to build all kinds of tanks." The normally husky-voiced of her childhood friend cracked between every other word.

"She's not the only one tasked with the impossible," she muttered. "This island is littered with individuals given challenging commands. Some succeed…"

"And others fail," he finished.

"Not Fire Nation," she consoled him, a small spark of envy flaring within her. "The Fire Lord has shown far more leniency towards her own people than she does others." A brief pause overcame her before she remembered the stories of the Fire Lord when Steffon's mother had first arrived in Westeros. "That incident in her youth notwithstanding."

"I was just about to say," Kai replied. "Still, I suppose even with such limited knowledge… _very_ limited knowledge of tank design and manufacture, my mother is still too valuable an asset to be shipped off to the Stannis Fort. Though spirits know Administrator Han does try sniffing around every now and then for anything incriminating enough to get her booted."

"Afraid of getting upstaged, is he?" she questioned.

"Most likely," he replied. "And given what Steffon has said of the Fire Lord's annoyance with our dear Industrial Administrator and the constant setbacks…" the insinuation hung in the air. "Well, let's just say all my mother would need to do to get a promotion is put forth even the most basic of working tank designs. Han, on the other hand, would find a new purpose in life as _Custodial_ Administrator. A position he would find himself thinking on till the end of his days as he scrubs the floors of my mother's new office. But, that's for later," he added, waving the notion off. "We will see what happens at the end of the year when 'the Azula' either sets off or lingers in port because of design flaws."

"Speaking of which," Margaery rejoined, stretching her leg back, before bending it and catching it in her left hand to pull it up further still.

"Any ideas on who the new captain would be?"

"None," he responded, lifting his arm over his head and curving it over the back of his neck. Kai's free hand cupped his bent arm's elbow and pulled. "Although, I imagine the list of the people entrusted to captain the new Battleship will be small indeed. The Fire Lord would be my first guess, then Lord Stannis, followed by the Commanders, and so on."

"Chains of command matter," she recited Chi-Ha's mantra mid-stretch.

"When it comes to achieving victory, or suffering defeat," Kai added.

"And getting new postings too, it seems," she noted, relaxing her arms and legs, and shaking off whatever was left of their soreness.

"Evidently so," Kai snorted.

"You know, as unforgiving as she is, a part of me hopes the Instructor gets the promotion," she stated, sitting on the soft grass. For a lingering moment, she thought on her words, before finally laying down and looking up towards the cloudy sky.

"I take it no sparring?" Kai questioned, looking at her prone form.

"Meh, not anymore," she shrugged.

"She's an excellent instructor," Kai continued, relaxing his arms and sitting down beside her. "But I think she'd be better off striking fear into the students. Help build up the dread and respect all should hold for their superiors. Rather than dealing with privileged graduates who didn't face her in the Academy."

"A fair point," she replied, the grass crunching beneath her nodding head. "Although I'm curious, don't you think it would've been far more prudent to make three more cruisers instead of the one battleship?"

"As if that was my decision to make."

"Oh come now," she snorted. "From what Steffon and Theon tell me when manned properly, with benders mind you, the cruisers are more than capable of bringing down at least a hundred war galleys. They're faster and far more heavily armored."

He regarded to her with a curious expression. "It's more than just a single ship, Margaery. Just as the Fire Lord represents the Fire Nation, so too does the battleship represent our command of the seas. _Her_ command of the seas. The name was not chosen because of mere vanity. It was meant to be a symbol of her reign. She has no comets prophesized to bring her great victories. She has quelled no great schisms."

"But surely the Greyjoy rebellion…." she voiced.

"Was not her victory," he rumbled. "It was the King's victory. It was during his reign that the Greyjoy's were defeated. The Fire Lord was merely just another Lord who assisted in bringing about that victory. All the history books will remember is how King Robert, first of his name, and however many titles that follow, saw to the utter defeat of the Greyjoy upstarts. A small side note will speak of that moment being the first true test of the _true_ Iron fleet, and perhaps a mention of the young foreign-born woman who saw it through for her King."

"You are being dramatic," she noted, sniffing at the fresh sea breeze that blew by. "She and her people's arrival will be spoken of for ages to come."

Kai looked at her, yet remained silent. A flock of seagulls called in the distance, as if in agreement with her words.

"The Fire Lord is young, yet," she continued. "She still has time to leave her mark on Westeros."

"Perhaps, though the point still stands. 'The Azula,' is her legacy. Uncontested, and undefeatable," his words held the weight of cast iron.

"Like its namesake," she whispered, her voice lost in the wind.

"Once that ship hits the water, her name will never be forgotten. That will be the first stone in which the foundation of a Westerosi Fire Nation will be made," he looked to her and dug his finger into the dirt. "When the history looks back they will see that the first Fire Lord did not remain idle. That she did not give in to the excesses of rulership as many rulers do."

' _Had he meant King Robert?'_ she wondered.

"Fire Lord Azula set in motion a revolution of industry and technology," he shot a quick look to her. "At the moment. That, her people, and our potential is all she has. All she will need to make Westeros, to make the world remember her." His proclamation had seemed to drain him, but he continued. "And should my mother encounter a breakthrough with the tanks, then they too will serve as a symbol of the Fire Nation's power. Of the first Fire Lord's power." Kai turned away, his golden eyes staring westward.

"Even so, King Robert still commands the fleet," she pointed out. "There are many ways such a promising future. Such a lasting legacy can be ruined."

She heard a sigh and saw Kai turn back to her. A burning look crossed his eyes before he once again stared out into the horizon. "I respect. I honor the position and titles of his grace, King Robert, just as the Fire Lord herself does. However, he is just King of Westeros. Not King of the Fire Nation. There is no such title. The Fire Nation and all technological accomplishments therein are and always will be the Fire Lord's to command."

"I understand," she replied, knowing full well what meaning the look in his eyes conveyed.

"Do you, Margaery?"

"I do," she sniffled slightly, the pain still fresh even after nine years. "I understand loyalty to the Fire Nation, to the Fire Lord. My closest friend died holding on to that same devotion. That same sense of promise. She was the kindest, gentlest, warmest person I had ever known, and she was willing to die for it for it all the same. If she had been given a second chance, I have come to accept that she would have chosen to die again. She never wavered. Disagreed? Yes. But she never let doubt overcome her loyalty. I would not be honoring her memory if I did not truly understand what she had felt all those years ago. What you feel, right now."

Kai pursed his lips and gave a stiff nod. "Apologies."

"No. I should be apologizing to you," she looked up to him and squinted her eyes, the light of the sun peaked out from behind the clouds and made him appear as a black shadow to her sight. For a moment he remained a shadow before the clouds enveloped the sun once more and he came back into focus.

"Nonsense! I was wrong to assume that…" a look of shame washed over his face, as the final words caught in his throat.

Sensing Kai's hesitation, she finished his words for him. "…that an outsider would understand loyalty to the Fire Nation?"

"No! I did not mean that!"

"It is alright," she cast a gentle smile, looking up to him, and resting her hands on her stomach. "I was wrong, to assume that I was one of you. I know I am not. I will never be like Ursa, or Chi-Ha, or…" she hesitated, "Ty Lee, as much as I wish to be. However, we both know, wishes are not reality. Otherwise, they wouldn't be called 'wishes.'"

"I beg your pardon, my lady, but as you said earlier on me always being a knight to you. You will always be Fire Nation, to me." He presented her with the Fire Nation salute, which she reciprocated from her lying position.

"Thank you." Margaery could not help the beaming smile growing on her face, nor the contented nausea that accompanied it.

"Between the two of us?" Kai leaned in. "If you want an example of someone more Westrosi than Fire Nation, you needn't look further than a certain woman footed man-child."

She threw her head back, somehow forgetting she had been lying on the ground, and slammed it into the puffy grass. "Ouch!" she let lose an unladylike snort, and laughed, before she regained her composure.

"By the way," he cleared his throat. "Have you heard the stories about her? The lieutenant, I mean."

"Which ones?" she closed her eyes and relaxed. The breeze had done much to cool her heated body. "The one where she is with Clegane? Or the one where she is with Theon?"

"Oh please. Theon has been infatuated with her for quite some time," he scoffed, glancing skyward to the sight of a small flock of gulls heading west, in the direction of the capital.

"Greyjoy seems to enjoy pain, so it'd be fitting," her eyes remained shut, taking in the smells and feel of the cool wind against her skin.

"If he didn't start the rumor, I'd be surprised. But no," his tone turned grim. "Not those. The ones about the instructor's years as a military officer. From before being stationed on 'the Ozai.'"

Margaery opened her eyes slowly, glancing towards her friend. "Oh, _those,_ with the Earth Kingdom prisoners and… _._ "

Before she could continue, something struck her face, something black and crumbly. Kai had seen it too, and both of them stared up into the sky. Coal flakes began to flutter down around them, which only meant one thing. _'Iron ships!'_ she thought, and mentally corrected herself. Stories of when King Robert had first seen 'the Ozai,' reverberated in her mind. The moment he started calling it an 'Iron ship,' the named appeared to stick, despite the Fire Lord having tried to correct him several times.

"Hmmm? I wonder who it is." Kai rose from the ground and dusted his reddish training pants off.

"Ship from Lyanna's bay maybe?" she offered, rising up alongside him.

"Could be," he replied then let loose a mischievous grin. "Want to go and see? Race you there."

"I don't know, we really should be heading back soon," she remembered. "They should be starting to set up the stage for the play, can't be late." She shook off some of the black flecks that had come to rest on her shoulder. "Instructor Tima has finally organized a play regarding the rebel Roku, and Fire Lord Sozin's Air Nomad conquest…"

"Yes," he grunted. "I am told she went to great lengths to have it presented as accurate as possible. That the Fire Lord oversaw its production in its beginning stages before departing for King's Landing. Though I think you are just giving me excuses because you are afraid you'll lose…" he smirked, then bolted in the direction of the southern sea cliff.

"Wait! Kai! Kaiii!" she yelled, chasing after him, nearly forgetting her small rucksack.

The wind rushed through her hair as she trailed behind Kai's muscular form. "Can't keep up, Margaery? Let me slow down a bit to help you out!" Despite his promise, he moved as if he had been part air, but she eventually managed to gain ground.

"I don't need your charity, Kai!" she shouted, the distance between them closing up as they crossed the flowered field. "I can keep up on my own," Margaery saw him growing closer, and closer, only an arm's reach away. The soft crunch of the grass beneath her feet gave way to the hard grinding of pebbles, until she eventually overcame him. She let loose a tongue and sped past, the dust kicking up behind her heels.

Kai coughed and wafted the dust away. "Just giving you a sporting chance, _milady_!" They continued their contest, shifting between winner and loser until they neared the southern cliff edge. "Almost there," he sprained, nearing her.

She surged forward, her legs screaming in protest. "You will not win this time!" she pressed, regaining her lead before finally coming to a stop at the cliff edge. "You…." her exhaustion crept into her voice, as she spoke. "Lose…" she rested her hands on her knees and stood hunched, her lungs desperate for fresh rejuvenating air, a smile playing on her lips.

The crunch of dirt and grass came up beside her, as she stared out onto the bay. "Just trying to be chivalrous. I didn't want to embarrass you _milady_ ," he struggled, his breath short and quick.

There, in the distance, they saw a cruiser, but it did not appear as they had been accustomed to. "Look!" she remarked, watching the expertly constructed mass of floating steel coasting closer towards the docks near the shipyard where 'the Azula' was approaching its final stages of construction.

"What in the spirit world is on the deck?" Kai added. His surprise was as great as her own. Atop the floor of the ship, they spied a glimmer in the light.

"The sun is reflecting off of something. Several somethings," she observed. Her hand hovered above her eyes, shielding them from the bright light above.

Suddenly he looked at her, then the small pack strapped to her side. "Your telescope! Brandish the thing and let us have a closer look!"

Margaery blinked in surprise, before she knelt down, laying the small pack on the ground. Its contents jingled, as she unfurled the dusty leather covering that protected her meager belongings from the elements. The brass felt cool in her hands as she popped open the ornately constructed spyglass, and set it upon her eye. She closed one eye and stared into the glass, magnifying the image of the cruiser. A dark feeling arose from the pit of her stomach when she realized that the gulls had gone.

"Well?"

"Hold on," she replied. "Patience is a virtue," a light scoff was all that she heard in reply. "Judging from the markings on the banner, I think it's the 'Firestorm.' There is a squad of five Fire Nation, three red priests, and twenty Flameguard, on its deck. They look to be preparing for the unlatching." The men guarding the box were deathly still. Their faceplates hid their faces, but their body language screamed in anticipation. The red priests seemed to have a haunted look in their eyes, their mouths uttering something she could not hear. Even from this distance, the metallic groan of the 'Firestorm' lowering its prow hatch onto the concrete pier was loud enough to be heard along the cliff edge. Movement drew her eyes to the other end of the dock, where she saw the Lady Mai, flanked by Instructors Chi-Ha, Zha-Meng, Chang, a dozen Fire Nation troopers, and four very large Flameguard. "It's the Overseer!"

"What?! Let me see!" he reached out, grasping at her telescope.

"No!" she slapped at his hands, before chi-blocking his arm. "Mine." She looked at him, before staring back down to the harbor.

"What are they doing?"

"Shut up!" Out of the black maw of the lower prow, a metallic box, escorted by no less than ten Flameguard. "It looks like a metal coffin with a window. It looks important," she continued peering into the blackness of the window, her eyes were drawn to it, but she did not know why, until she saw them. Blue stars stared out from the void, and a fell, inhuman shriek accompanied them…


	56. (Dragonstone) Mai V

(Dragonstone: 10/8/298 AC) Mai V

A fell shriek of cracking ice echoed in her ears, resonating over the lands and in the air. She stood there watching the small steel prison roll down the 'Firestorm's' prow ramp on squeaky black wheels. The crashing waves dulled the sounds of its noisy descent until it landed with a low 'thump' onto the solid gray slab of concrete on the docks. The pinpoints of blue light shimmered in the blackness, eyeing them with curiosity, as the six of the ten Flameguard surrounding the steel sarcophagus retreated a safe distance away and formed a perimeter. Four of the others, the larger ones, the 'Repurposed' she knew their movements anywhere, reached for something behind the metal coffin and withdrew four large chains, nearly the length of three fully grown men. The chains rattled as the 'Repurposed' Flameguard crisscrossed the chains over the front and back sections of the box. With a click, the chains were secured on the four curved locking mechanisms located near the mid-section of the box. With little more than half a length of chain left, the four former 'men' withdrew, clenching their hands over their own respective chains.

"Hmmm," she heard Chi-Ha raise her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe there is something on this world finally worth killing…"

Azure lights looked to and fro, until finally coming to rest upon her entourage. The creature within grew deathly quiet as it stared at them. A cold shiver ran up her spine, a signal of the temperature dropping beyond the point of discomfort, even under the bright midday sun. She spared a glance to her compatriots and saw no signs of uneasiness. Chang, however, held a queer look in his eye. Not one of fear, nor excitement, but something else. Something she did not know, nor cared to understand. _'Strange man…'_

The creature began to screech once more before Chang stepped forward. "Overseer? With your permission? I would like to approach."

For a moment, his words did not register until the strange screaming grew to a fevered pitch. The metal box that held the thing, began to shift, as the foul life within seemed intent on knocking over its steel prison in an attempt to free itself. "Flameguard!" the large armored men surrounding the box tightened their holds on the chains, keeping them taut and secure. The guard she brought with her, focused on her words, and turned in unison, awaiting her commands. "The rest of you, at the ready. Flames hot. Keep an eye on our guest," she warned, turning towards Zha-Meng and Chi-Ha. "Commander! Lieutenant!"

"Yes, Overseer? Your command?" They stepped forward, her eyes telling them all they needed to know as she tilted her head to the aged instructor. They gave their salutes and moved to flank the old man who bowed his balding head in appreciation. The metallic box suddenly ceased shifting, and all looked towards it. She nodded to Chang once Zha-Meng and Chi-Ha had placed themselves at his side. Chang remained impassive, hands concealed under billowing red and gold robes, which themselves hid the armor that was always just beneath.

"Interesting," he muttered.

Zha-Meng stood to the instructor's right, one hand over the hilt of his ancestral Jian sword, still firmly within its simple wooden scabbard with modest golden flame embellishments. Chi-Ha stalked Chang's left, and surprisingly, refrained from reaching for the dangling chain of her meteor hammer. She instead chose to grasp at the twin hilts of the butterfly swords peeking out of her, lightly tanned, leather scabbard weaved with a black dragon design. Somehow sensing them at the ready, the Instructor stepped forward.

"Try not to get too close," she cautioned. "It would be difficult to replace you…"

"I shall endeavor to keep myself safe, Overseer," the fossil reassured as he slithered to the sarcophagus, his shadows not far behind.

She quietly paced around them, to get a better view of the proceedings, while maintaining a safe distance away from them and the box. Her four guards moved with her, unable to ignore Azula's commands to never stray far from her. _'Unable to ignore any commands,'_ she thought, hearing the 'shink' of their plate armor and heavy metallic stomps. The steady padding of more than a dozen pairs of feet sounded out over the crashing waves.

Chang stood no more than an arm's length away, golden eyes never leaving the black void, nor the blue lights within. "Magnificent," Chang's whisper drifted on the wind, though she could not place the darker tone that rang just beneath. The creature in the box grew silent, and the instructor stood there, his eyes closed. The 'Repurposed' holding the chains drew them tighter, removing what little slack remained.

"Chang! Do not lose focus. That's enough, step back!" she ordered, onto deaf ears. If the instructor heard her, he gave no sign, and only moved his lips to something she did not hear. The center of the metal box began to frost over, crackling sharply as it did so. "Chang! Chi-Ha!" she managed to shout, before the front end of the creature's prison exploded outward, releasing small shards of frozen steel. Chi-Ha and Zha-Meng reacted, dashing forward in an attempt to shove the instructor out of the way. An icy hand shot out of the hole quick as lightning, aiming for Chang's chest. Unfortunately, for the creature, the instructor was no crippled old sloth, catching the icy arm at the wrist, and wrapping his own hands around it. The moment Chang's hands touched the frozen arm a sudden explosion of steam enveloped the instructor and the box.

"Down!" The lieutenant and the commander exclaimed in unison. True to their training, both quickly ducked away, dodging the hot cloud mid-charge utilizing controlled fire blasts from their feet to assist in their evasion. The Flameguard who stood at attention upon the deck of the 'Firestorm' assumed combat forms, followed by those stationed behind her and to the sides of the metal casket.

The four 'Repurposed' holding on to the chains remained still and steadfast, even as the blistering steam, rolled over to them, and sizzled their flesh for a few moments before dissipating. Bits of steam rose from the openings of their armors, giving them a slightly ghostly appearance.

"Instructor?!" the scarred teacher barked. Chi-Ha quickly rose to her feet with only a scant few scratches alongside her bare arms, lifting them to protect her face from any errant plumes of steam.

An intense heat emanated from the smoky grey steam, which still enshrouded both Chang and the thing's prison. The strange, ear-piercing cry came again, out from the mist. She heard ice begin to crack, before finally ending in a 'snap!' Something flew out from the cloud, something that glistened in the sun. It struck the ground twice before shattering like milk glass along the concrete pier. The pieces began to hiss and crack, before evaporating away along the sea breeze. She looked back to the steam and saw movement. Daggers slid into her hands from under her sleeves and she waited. The others held onto combat poses of their own, Chi-Ha crouched low, butterfly swords drawn and gleaming in the sun. Zha-Meng, straight and firm, gripped his ancestral sword with both hands, his knuckles white as bone. The dark-hued metal of his blade still hummed from being recently drawn out of its sheath.

"Chang?!" she cried, growing closer to the quickly vanishing steam cloud. She made out the instructor's form and heard him grunt. She tried to make out his face and for a moment she could have sworn seeing a pair of crimson lights where his eyes should have been. ' _A trick of light within the shifting steam? Maybe I'm just seeing things?'_ she calmed herself and remained planted where she stood. A burst of flame wafted away the steam, and Chang emerged from the fire. His face was serene, and unblemished with worry or doubt, even after this bizarre exchange.

"The creature is broken," he stated simply. "Though I would not waste time in moving it into the caverns," the man bowed, before speaking once more. "Overseer. If you would not object, I wish to return to my study. I have things to read on. Books from my times serving under Admiral Zhao."

"What did you see?" she locked eyes with him, and just as before, she could not tell what was hiding beneath those brilliant golden rings.

"A great future for the Fire Nation, Overseer. Greater than even Ozai would have imagined. A future worthy of Fire Lord Azula," he smiled, his lips stretching out over his teeth like a lionshark, and she shivered.

"Go," was all she could muster. The man bowed his head once more and retreated down the path leading to the administration complex, and Fire Nation housing. Mai turned and found herself staring into Chi-Ha's scarred face.

"Should I follow him?"

"No," she looked at the box, and the blurred bit of sunlight glimmering near the protrusion, reflecting from some far off source. "Let him go. We have more important matters to attend to. Commander?"

"Yes. Overseer," he replied, his attention half hers. The other half remained fixed on the sarcophagus, as he paced around it cautiously.

"Remain here with our guest until the tank train arrives for transport. I must go and speak with the captain. Who I noticed did not come to greet me, as he should have."

"As you command," he continued circling the box like a cat.

"Chi-Ha," she spoke, gesturing with two fingers to the cliffs. "We have an audience. Bring them to me. Quietly. Take the hidden path along the shore."

"As you command," she saluted, taking her word, with only a subtle glance towards the cliff edge. Chi-Ha jogged up the path Chang had taken, then ducked down, disappearing along the rocks protruding out along the cliffs. The sea churned along the rocks, keeping the scarred woman hidden from prying eyes.

She turned, looked up the prow ramp of the 'Firestorm,' and stepped forward, intent on speaking with Captain Shagan. Her heels clicked along the floor, and the four Flameguard holding the chains began twisting their bodies to face her. She paused and looked at them, "I will board the ship, keep this creature secure. No one is to leave without my expressed permission. No one." A series of raspy breaths answered her and they returned to their positions holding on to the chains. _'It's probably pointless since the thing can freeze and shatter steel, but best to have a veneer of control.'_ She began her ascent up the ramp, the heavy footsteps of her 'Repurposed' guard right behind. The 'Firestorm's' deck was moderately damaged, with deep five-fingered gashes, trailing down toward the small hatch leading to the cargo hold. _'Likely in the struggle to bring the creature aboard.'_ Mai noticed the door leading to the cruiser's bridge was shut, as she passed through the assorted Fire Nation, Flameguard, and Red Priest, troops. They all bowed, presented flame, or saluted to her, depending on their station.

A single red priest came up to her, and she felt the 'Repurposed' behind her grow closer. "Overseer Mai," the Volantene man bowed. The teardrop flame of the Fire Nation was tattooed under his left eye, a heart contained just within.

"Yes? What is it? Where is the captain?" she questioned, her eyes focusing in on his tattoo. _'Consider yourself fortunate you are not one of Azula's spies,_ ' she shuddered, as the memory of one particular priestess sprung into her mind. _'The cutting. The screams as Cy'via cleaned the small flap of skin that was still attached to the bleating woman. The marking of the Fire Nation Heart. Qyburn sewing it shut and lathering all of those pungent salves over it. Leave it to Azula to have that kind of idea…'_ Mai caught herself and looked the middle-aged man in the eyes.

"He is still…" the priest hesitated, looking off to the side, his armored robes shifting slightly in response to the movement. "Recovering from his ordeal."

"What ordeal? What happened?" she looked past the man, to the door. Her voice was calm and monotonous. "Shagan did not send word of plans to take whatever detour he did, to capture the creature in the box, and he will answer for that. Where is he?"

"On the bridge," the man answered. His voice was not as resolute as she had grown accustomed to hearing from the other red worshippers.

"Stand aside." The tattooed man bowed and moved without question. _'He seems shaken…'_ Considering what Mai had just seen, a part of her was both curious and fearful of what the captain might reveal. As she reached for the handle of the door leading to the bridge she felt a sudden coldness overcome her. Brushing the feeling aside, she twisted the handle and pushed. The door groaned in protest, the metal sounding as if was centuries old. She found the area empty and spotted the small metal staircase leading up to the bridge. Two of her 'Repurposed' placed themselves in front of her and stomped up the steps. She rose up behind them, mind swirling with questions. Before long, she found herself staring at the captain of the ship. His normally clean-cut beard and presentable top knot were disheveled and grayed in places.

"Overseer," he attempted a proper salute but fell short. Hollow, golden, eyes stared at her. The pregnant pause between them, a signal that he was waiting for her to speak.

"Captain? What is the meaning of this? Why are you not presentable?" she demanded in a low tone. Her guards had drifted in and stood along the sides of the bridge, focused on the single solitary man at its center.

"A thousand apologies, Overseer," he replied in a tired voice. "I have not had the proper amounts of rest since we found that thing. My dreams have grown strange of late." The captain blinked, then added, almost as an afterthought, "What of Saan's fleet? Have they made port?"

"Yes, captain, they have," she twitched.

"The ingredients have all been accounted for? The flash paper? The…"

"We are not here to discuss the finer points of synthesizing blasting jelly, captain," her words came out like a razor. "I have reports to fill, other people to see, and no time to waste. The Fire Lord has sent word that she will arrive within the week. So if you would please explain to me why you took it upon yourself to not inform us until after you had set out on your little voyage to capture that thing out there," she thumbed back from the direction she had come. "I would be most appreciative."

The man seemed to shiver, casting a glance over his right shoulder. "The red priestess, Harrosha," he began, walking up to the rear window of the bridge. "She advised me that the Fire Lord's ultimate victory would be found out there," Shagan pointed out to the open sea. "Aboard a lone Ironborn ship in the Sunset Sea."

' _So that's why they were late,'_ she mused. "And where is this red priestess?"

The captain's eyes grew wild. "I did not want to listen, but she knew things. She knew things about me, about my life before the transport. About how the Fire Nation would rise to dominate this world if I but shifted course southeast for a day." He looked at her, eyes mad with fear, grief, and hope, all in one. "She knew….she knew….the cold…."

"Captain!" she shouted, quieting his mad rant, and bringing the man's mind back onto solid ground. "Where is she?"

A seasoned veteran of the hundred year's war, Shagan took in a sharp breath of air, as if he had just now registered her question. "Dead," he whispered, turning to face her, before looking down onto the steel floor of the bridge.

"Look at me captain," she commanded, reaching her hand out to raise his chin. "How?"

"She was found her in her quarters two nights ago…frozen solid," he wavered, as she slipped her hand back up into her perfectly pressed sleeve. "Her hands were raised in defense. Her face was one of pure terror, forever displaying a silent, and eternal scream…"

"What else was in the room?" she inquired with baited breath.

A pensive look came over the captain's eyes, his hands resting on the window's metal sill.

"Your silence is audible, captain. What else was in the room?" she pressed, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing. There was nothing in her room," he finally answered. "Only a very cold spot against the wall, where she was facing."

"And her body?"

"When we touched her, her body cracked, then crumbled into a pile of fine snow," a haunted look came over his face for a brief instant before he shook it away. "I've never seen anything like that, not even from water benders."

"Hmmm, and you still thought it wise to bring this creature here after seeing that?" Mai could not help but raise a brow in astonishment.

"I sent word to the Fire Lord immediately, but she insisted," he pleaded.

"Of course she did," she muttered, frowning her displeasure at her friend's decision. _'What in the spirit world are you thinking, Azula?'_ She started for the window lining the balcony, looking down along the bow, and the planted prow ramp. Down to the still secured steel coffin. "What happened when you found it? How did you secure it?" she questioned, still staring down at the box. Movement at her back, clinking glass, and the sound of pouring, put her on edge, but the Flameguard had not moved. Whatever the man was doing it was not a threat to her, but even so, she could not help but stare at his light reflection on the clear window.

He came up to her, a glass of liquid in his hand. "Huangjiu," he stated. "I've learned that it can calm the nerves," he drank, and drank deeply, finishing the drink in one gulp. He poured more and offered her some, which she declined. He drank once more, then spoke. "After we came upon the rotting ship, we found numerous bloated bodies littering its deck. Some wore furs. Barbarians of some sort, I think, it's hard to tell with these Westrosi. Others wore armor emblazoned with the golden Kraken. One of them had patches of white hair still stuck to its decayed face, and many rings, of gold, and silver, and bronze. Some of those poor corpses were still moving…"

She turned, the slight rise in her brow indicative of surprise. "The dead were moving? Clearly, they were not dead then. You must've been mistaken."

"They must have been dead, or they should have been," his voice shook slightly. "Some of them had caved in chests, their organs exposed to the elements, and others were rendered into discolored decomposed jelly. They tried clawing at us when we came aboard, with whatever foul strength remained in them. Muscles oozed off their bones in the attempt. We burned the blasted thing and put them all out of their misery once the creature was brought onboard."

"And how did you find the thing?" she probed, her hands hidden in her sleeve as she looked out of the window. The commander remained alert, still circling the creature's temporary prison. The Dragonstone troops both on the docks and on the deck maintained their ready positions.

"We saw it down there in the darkness of the ship's hold. Azure stars glittered in the void until we lit our flames and found a crystalline body collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath." He began to wring his hands and chuckled nervously. "The weather did not seem to agree with it, it seems. Its strange armor was melting away, along with the rest of its body. Like the putrefying carcasses on the ship's deck, it too reached for us, sapphire eyes burning with hate. Pale blue blood dripped out of its gaping black maw. The sound of breaking ice flooded the hold, nearly deafening me and those I had brought aboard."

"Did it resist? Or was it too weak?"

"It resisted at first until we turned our fire upon it. My flames did not feel as strong as they do now, they felt muted. Almost as if they were afraid to strike at the creature. Fortunately, I was not the only bender, and together we rendered the thing into a half-melted emaciated thing," the captain grimaced, balling his hands tightly, knuckles popping. "We threw some chains on it and dragged it onto the 'Firestorm.' It was when we reached the deck of the 'Firestorm' that we heard the chains frosting over. We blasted it with fire once more, causing it to thrash and scream. It somehow managed to free a single hand and…"

"Let me guess? Clawed at the deck?" she stated, rolling her eyes. "I saw the gashes. It's what I surmised." Even through the window, she heard the tank train in the distance rumbling closer. She sighed, sparing a glance at the steel sarcophagus. "And that box you stuffed it in?"

"We used whatever spare plates we had for the furnace and welded them together," the captain answered, a bit of pride shining through his uneasiness.

"Well, don't let anyone ever tell you-you don't think on your feet," she sighed, spotting the tank train emerging from around the shipyard where the 'Azula' was being constructed. "I expect your ship's log, and detailed accounts from your crew, on my desk by the end of the day. The Fire Lord will be awaiting my report when she comes. You know how she is. Make sure they are extremely detailed, please."

"It will be done, Overseer," he saluted, bowing his head.

She rose her hand and twirled her finger in the air, a silent command for her Flameguard to form up, and glided to the open entryway leading out of the bridge. She turned to the captain one last time, "End of the day, captain. Do not forget. The Fire Lord enjoys her little surprises, and in all likelihood, she could turn up tomorrow, or be sitting in my seat waiting for me to show up in my office." _'Probably in the dark too. Oh, you and your flair for the dramatic.'_

"I will set to work on reviewing my crew immediately."

"Good," she nodded and continued walking. The corridor seemed longer, somehow, stretching out into the depths of the unknown. _'That sounded so crazy,'_ she ruminated, hand clasped in front of her and concealed by her long sleeves. Mai brooded over the one question she sought to ask when Azula arrived. _'What kind of plan could you possibly have that requires the use of such a volatile creature?'_ She swept down the stairs, the loud trudging of her Flameguard shaking her out of her trance. "Could you please walk quietly? Must you stomp around everywhere?" she asked futilely, knowing they were not smart enough to walk gracefully. At least, not for her. "I don't know how Azula gets you to float around like ghosts." Mai emerged from the darkness of ship's doors, and onto the deck, where the troops still retained their silent vigil over the metal box below. The path down the prow ramp was clear, and she drifted across the deck, the assorted troops giving her nods of acknowledgment.

The man with the tattoo approached her once more, "How was the captain, Overseer?"

"As well as can be expected," she paused to answer, seeing Azula's sole armored vehicle only seconds away. "Did you know the priestess? Harrosha?"

"We spoke on occasion, but I did not know her well. However," his Volantene accent sifted through. "She was known to possess a certain aptitude for seeing things in the Lord's flames. A gift not many possess."

"Hmmm," she mused, catching sight of the tank train coming to a stop near the metal box. "Be sure to include that in your report, priest, and thank you for your candor."

"As always," he bowed respectfully. "I live to serve the Lord's chosen, and those she has elevated above the rest."

She nodded, looking at the man. _'He truly believes you are his savior, Azula. This is a big gamble, even for you.'_ Chains began to rattle, drawing her attention back to the docks, as Zha-Meng barked orders to those below. The tank train had opened it side hatch and disgorged its small escort of five firebenders. The Fire Nation troops busily maneuvered the steel casket, with the assistance of the four 'Repurposed,' into the tank's storage unit, wrapping more chains around it and enclosing it within yet another steel box located at the rear area of the armored train.

The commander saw her approach. "Will you be riding within?"

"Yes, commander. I oversee all operations here, and this is no exception," she answered, looking at the thing, and remembering the first time she had ridden in it. When it had held the most precious of cargos.

* * *

" _Whoa! This thing is huge! Echo! Echo!" Ty Lee shouted._


	57. (King's Landing) Cersei VI

(King's Landing: 10/8/298 AC) Cersei VI

The red velvet and golden metal work, lined the open balcony, as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms awaited her only daughter. _'This is horrid,'_ she told herself, wringing her hands over the scented cloth in her palms, almost tearing the valuable piece of reddish silk. _'Selling her off like a common whore! Bah! I suppose it's better than having that drunken fool give away Tommen to that humorless moron. I'll get Myrcella back, once Stannis and his wife's plots are dealt with. Once they are dealt with…'_

' _Knock! Knock!'_ a gauntleted hand rapped at the door.

"What is it!" she nearly barked, grimacing toward the shut entryway. For a moment she stood there, her eyes trying to burn through the ornamented piece of wood. The roaring lion carved on its paneling spoke to her, reflecting her anger at the situation Robert and Stannis had put her in. _'Gods! If only Stannis hadn't had that boy of his, none of this would have transpired! Robert would be well on his way to an early grave, and they could do nothing but sputter empty threats. And Stark! That northern barbarian, he'd still be stumbling about like an ox in a chicken coop!'_

"Princess Myrcella, your grace," Godwyn, the loyal Lannister guardsman, replied in a raspy voice.

She pressed down her dress and cleared her throat, striding to the door as elegantly as she could, in spite of her anger. _'Not at Myrcella, no. Never her children, but the rest? Others take them all!'_ "Enter!" she commanded softly, so as not to frighten her sweet and innocent daughter. _'Oh how scared she must be, but I will not have Robert tell her of this, only me. It should only be me…thank the gods they are not his…'_ The door clicked, its heavy wooden frame groaning as it slowly swung open. From behind the roaring lion emerged Cersei's beautiful golden-haired daughter, a crown of flowers upon her head. "Myrcella, my dear," she smiled, holding a genuine feeling of happiness at seeing her daughter. A happiness that was quickly forgotten once the reason she had summoned her came rushing back into her mind, along with the sounds of the door shutting behind her middle child.

"Good afternoon, mother!" Myrcella smiled, practically skipping up to her. Cersei felt her lips twitch, as her daughter came close and embraced her. She caught a familiar fruity scent coming from her hair, and wondered if her daughter had spoken to the bitch. She pulled away and stared at Myrcella's rosy red cheeks, placing her hands on them, and feeling their warmth. She felt a slight wetness in her eyes before she let one hand drop while the fingers of the other came to rest around the flowery crown.

"My, my, a crown of flowers," she chuckled mirthlessly, playing with the petals of the white and blue flowers, eyeing them with keen interest as they remained entwined within a ring of bright green vines. For an instant, memories of her childhood flooded into her mind, and she brought her hand down to her lap. Memories of when she had, ever so briefly, believed in the stories of pretty maidens with flowers in their hair. _'A long time ago when mother still lived. When it was just me and Jaime. When I just wanted to fight like the men, be respected like the men, but still be afforded the extravagances fit for a queen. I wanted knights to fear me, to want to be like me, and I wanted them to love me, and give up everything for me.'_

"Aren't they pretty mother?" Myrcella looked up to her crown with big emerald eyes, placing her hands on it, and adjusting the thing in excitement. They moved to sit on a cushioned bench of red velvet, near the golden mirror of Dragonstone make.

"Whoever gave you such a thing?" she smiled, sitting down on the luxurious pillow, and looking to her daughter as she sat beside her. Sunlight, bright and pure, filtered through the room and accented Myrcella's lovely young expression, which was still rosy and sweet with eyes full of merriment.

"Cousin Steffon!" she chirped. "I saw him walking in the Godswood with Ser Theon! Prince Oberyn and the ladies Ellaria and Azula were there too! They were so nice!" Myrcella looked up at her, "Cousin and Prince Oberyn said I was the prettiest little girl in the seven kingdoms, and that I would soon grow up to become the most beautiful!"

"That you are, and that you will be my sweetling," she ran her fingers through her daughter's golden curls, struggling to maintain a calm demeanor, the anger nearly breaking her mask. _'How dare they speak to her!?'_

"But," the bright smile drooped slightly, "cousin looked so sad when he said it." Those brilliant green eyes looked at her. "Is cousin Steffon going away?"

' _Much farther, and for far longer, than he thinks…'_ She smiled, still stroking her daughter's voluminous, cloud-like, hair. "No," she cupped her middle child's innocent face, nuzzling her nose. "I'm sure he was sad because he knows he would never be able to marry the future most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

Her daughter beamed in response, a honeyed giggle managing to escape her lips, as Cersei touched the unblemished skin of Myrcella's forehead with her own. "So, my little one," her curiosity at the meeting her daughter had with the Prince and the bitch, pushed aside her need to speak to Myrcella on the matters of her future at Casterly Rock. "Did you happen to overhear what the Lady Azula and Prince Oberyn were speaking of?"

"Oh yes!" she stated eagerly, jittering in excitement. "Prince Oberyn was curious on the state of Dragonstone. He said he wants to visit and see the places uncle speaks of!"

"Oh?" her eyebrow twitched. _'First Eddard Stark, and now Oberyn? What treachery has that whore roped the Prince of Dorne into?'_

"Yes, mother. He told me so. The Lady Azula was smiling when he told me. I think she looks forward to having Prince Oberyn there," she looked down and played with her hands.

' _I'm sure she does,'_ Cersei frowned. _'If the bitch leaves with Oberyn and Stark, then that provides quite the opportunity to solve certain problems here…Littlefinger better have pleasing news once he arrives.'_

"Mother?" a light voice melted her thoughts away.

"Hmm?" she answered.

"I should like to visit someday," Myrcella stole a look at her, eyes hidden just beneath her curly golden hair. "Cousin speaks of the Grand Academy as a wondrous…"

"No. You would not," she cut in, not ready to allow that sentence to continue. "It is a horrid place with dragons carved in hideous black stone," she hissed, though quickly softened, as she felt Myrcella draw back slightly. "And the Academy?" she sneered. "A haven of lowborn bastards," Cersei recalled Robert's two natural born brats, that the woman had made off with after Arryn's death, "and foreigners."

Her lovely daughter put her head down once more, and Cersei ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry little one, but that castle and that place frighten me. All those tales of sorcery and blood magic being done there when the Targaryens ruled, still haunt my dreams," she lied because nothing frightened Cersei Lannister. "I have my doubts that it has somehow improved under your uncle's tender care." _'Or the bitch's influence.'_

Myrcella raised her head to look at her, a thoughtful look coming over that tiny face, and she drew closer. "I've heard the stories about Dragonstone, but if cousin lives there, if he grew up there, it can't be that terrible. He is…"

"You will not visit Dragonstone, Myrcella, and that is final," her words were harsh, she knew, but she had no intention of allowing her only daughter travel to that bleak place. _'Never will you, nor your brothers, ever go to the place where that woman calls home, nor mingle too closely with those that live there.'_

Myrcella stiffened, then withdrew, her golden trusses bobbing as she turned. The embroidered golden and red seamed dress shifted with the movement of fidgeting legs underneath. A brief shadow, of clouds blanketing the sun, passed through the room. "Yes, mother," her young eyes were drawn to the cold stone floor.

"Worry not, little one," she embraced her, placing her hands on either shoulder. The next words to leave her mouth disgusted her, but she uttered them nonetheless. "Would you like to visit Casterly Rock again? Would you like to stay with your grandfather?"

Her golden cub remained silent, her uncertainty apparent in the air. "Stay?" she finally asked, eyes still downcast.

"Only for a time, sweetling," she lifted Myrcella's chin, and smiled, gazing into her bright green pools. "Grandfather wishes to spend time with you, to raise you as he did me. Maybe even," her voice caught in her throat, a bitter taste rolling over her tongue, "you will catch a certain knight's eye?"

"Which knight?" she questioned, her interest piqued.

"Ser Loras, maybe. Would you like that?" she looked at her, realizing her need to remain at her side.

Her smile turned into a grim frown as Myrcella took far longer to answer than she expected, and her daughter seemed to realize this as well. "Yes, I would," she answered in a rush, a half smile adorning her soft expression. "You are my mother, you are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and I would be honored to be raised as you were. But, Ser Loras looks mean, and how long would I be staying?"

A light chuckle escaped her lips, her teeth feeling every bit as dangerous as the fearsome beast her family claimed as their sigil. "Oh no, my dear, Ser Loras just needs a strong hand to guide him. And you won't be there for long," she reassured, _'Definitely not for long.'_ "A year or two at most," she continued, treasonous thoughts filled her mind, but she did not care, _'Months, if things proceed as expected, now that the woman and that barbarian are stepping out of the picture they are vulnerable…Robert, Stannis, and Renly…two hundred Dragonstone guards, one hundred Stormlanders, a handful of northerners, and a third of the Goldcloaks against five hundred of the best Lannister guards and the remaining Goldcloaks. Ha! The odds do not favor those traitorous fools! The boy may escape for a time, but he will not escape forever…How I long to see that bitch crying after I put her family's heads on spikes!'_

Myrcella appeared ready to say something, her brow furled deep in thought.

"I will come visit often to make sure you are safe and happy," she comforted her, taking in her small frame, waiting for a response, and instantly dreading it when it inevitably came.

"What about father?" those innocent words, any child would ask, felt like daggers Cersei's heart.

"He will say his farewells, but he and I felt I should be the one to tell you of this," she could not bear this farce much longer and wished Baelish would arrive to distract her. "Do you remember the stories I told you of why your father and I married?"

"It was because you loved him," Myrcella grew confused at the question, but radiated confidence with her answer.

"That is true," she nearly gagged, the memories of when she had actually cared for him long since having been buried deep within her mind. "But we had not met prior to that moment when the High Septon married us… _'I am his, he is mine…'_ "

"' _From this day until the end of my days,'_ " Myrcella spoke, finishing the words for her, as a breeze sifted through the silk curtains at their backs. "If you did not know him, why did you marry him?"

"Our marriage was going to bring peace to the realm," she countered simply, the true reasons resonated darkly in her thoughts. _'And at the behest of ambitious men. My father, and that accursed old man. Though being Queen had its own allure.'_

"You did that for them realm?" her princess asked innocently. "But you still grew to love father even though you had not known him?"

"Yes. I did my duty to help keep the realm secure," she rejoined. "And that is being asked of you," the urge to strangle the Tyrell knight in order to rid herself of this problem, and keep Myrcella close to her, surged through every fiber of her being. _'One day I'll deal with him as well.'_

"Ser Loras?" her middle child questioned, far cleverer than her youth would have otherwise indicated.

"A marriage to unify our families. Baratheon," _'Lannister in truth,'_ "and Tyrell," she placed a comforting hand on Myrcella's own. "But if you do not wish to do so little one, I will not let it happen. You have my word," _'and one that I intend to keep.'_

"No mother, I will do what is needed of me," for a moment Cersei had forgotten how young Myrcella was, and she was pleased. "When will I leave?"

She drew in a deep breath and girded herself for her response. "You will leave with Ser Loras, and your uncle Jaime, tomorrow morning. A handful of Lannister guardsmen will accompany you on your journey to the Rock."

A soft sigh was all that she received in response, before hollow words followed shortly thereafter. "Then I must prepare," her golden cub rose from her seat. "I hope to make you proud mother. I will not cry," already Cersei saw Myrcella's eyes water, but no drops fell. "Will you be there to say goodbye?"

"Of course I will, sweetling," she embraced her only daughter with the loving strength only a mother could.

' _Knock! Knock!'_ the gauntleted hand rapped once more.

"Yes?" she answered, releasing her golden princess.

"Lord Petyr Baelish, your grace!" Godwyn replied.

"I will be with him in a moment," she commanded, rising to tower above her daughter. "Now run along, little one, I will come to your room to be with you after I speak with Lord Baelish."

"Yes mother," a thankful smile graced her daughter's lips, her eyes still seemingly on the verge of tears. She walked Myrcella to the door and tapped lightly. It creaked open, allowing her to see her daughter off, and observe the slimy man from a minor house sitting on a bench just outside.

"Lord Baelish," she acknowledged, watching the man rise from his seat.

"Your grace?" he bowed, awaiting her words to allow him to step forward.

She thought about shutting the door but knew it to be foolhardy, now that she was beginning to plot Joffrey's ascension and Dragonstone's downfall. "Enter," she motioned, her hand cutting through the air.

"Thank you, your grace," Baelish replied, with a crooked grin on his face. A minty aroma drifted into her nose as he strode past, his expensive robes swishing to measured movements, ledger gripped firmly in his hand.

The door groaned shut, her hands resting on its cold golden handle. She waited a moment, running through the questions she had, and the answers she wanted. Cersei's anger rose with each question, which brought ever more infuriating answers. She clenched her hand, and pulled at the handle of beaten gold, tightening the skin over her beautiful porcelain hands, and revealing bone-white knuckles. She had no time for games and allowed the annoyance seep into her voice. "I hope you have something for me Baelish. Otherwise, this meeting will be _very_ short," she released her iron grip on the ornamented handle and faced the Braavosi-descended finger lord. A forced, yet pleasant, smile adorned her face, as she came to seat herself on the cushioned bench she had earlier shared with Myrcella.

"Of course, your grace," Baelish answered, still smiling that stupid smile. "What would you like to know?"

"Don't play dumb, Baelish," she warned, her smile still present, though lessened in pleasantness. "The Goldcloaks. Where are we with them?" _'Let's see if his words are the same as the servant's.'_

"The ones receiving your 'patronage' are faring well. The woman refuses to touch them," he reported.

The bench creaked slightly as she shifted her weight to one side, and crossed her legs. "Of course she wouldn't touch them. An overreaching fool she may be, but she fears the lion's wrath, as she should," Cersei smiled.

"Unfortunately, the Lady of Dragonstone has been far too eager to snap up what paltry offerings remain," he stated, taking a step forward, before she raised her hand, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"You mean the ones receiving _your_ 'patronage'?" she lifted a brow.

The little man returned to where he had originally stood, still gripping his ledger as if it were his child. "I wouldn't say that your grace, they were merely…" The curtains swayed slightly in the wind, before calming, bringing in the 'refreshing' stink of the city.

"I don't care for your deflections, Baelish. Just tell me, did you sacrifice them to get into the woman's good graces?"

Littlefinger cleared his throat, "I sacrificed no one of import. The woman isn't willing to accept vows of allegiance from just anyone, and no simple sacrifice is enough to earn her confidence. The moment she stepped foot in King's Landing, she's trusted no one."

"Well, she at least has good judgment," she commented, as he looked at her, hands still wrapped around the slim, polished, leather-bound book. _'Stork had mentioned that her master was overly cautious. Especially towards Baelish's 'gifts,' so his words have yet to ring false,'_ the thought swam in her mind.

"That she does," Baelish stood as still as an arrow. "She wasn't just another pleasing face," he added. "Her exploits had me expecting a brute of low cunning. Imagine my surprise, when she turned out not to be, and that she would require far less overt means to fool. Nothing would ever be enough to gain her full trust, but perhaps it would be enough to glean a whisper or two from her household every so often."

"And do you have any other _charitable_ acts hidden up your sleeves?" she scoffed, a half-hearted chuckle escaping her lips.

"None at the moment," he answered plainly.

"Somehow, I doubt that," she reared forward, clasping her hands together and resting her elbows on her crossed legs. "And the remainder of your men?"

"They still number over a thousand strong, though the new commander has taken great pains to keep them at arm's length, and is far less 'malleable' than his predecessor," Baelish answered back.

"Ah yes, the venerable, Janos Slynt?" She waved a hand and reclined back into her seat. "Have your men identified what caused the fire?"

"The evidence remains the same, and it has remained the same even after Lord Stark abandoned the investigation."

"Hmph, not like Lord Stark to abandon something, especially if it involves foul play," she noted, watching Baelish nod at her assessment. This had given her hope, however slight and fleeting, that perhaps Eddard Stark would cease investigating the nature of Jon Arryn's death and its cause, but she knew better. She suspected that the only reason Lord Stark ceased exploring the cause of Slynt's death was to focus on something more important, and she clenched her hands.

"I would tend to agree," he supplied. "Stark is one of the few people that can have a singular focus on things that concern them," Littlefinger lingered on his words before continuing. "Unfortunate though, a simple kitchen fire. Quite a less than worthy death for the former commander." Baelish's minty breath somehow managed to dance across the room as he spoke.

"Indeed," she stated half-heartedly. _'And a major setback. Slynt may have been a despicable man, but he was a coward who could be bought and was thus reliable. Because no one else could offer more gold or inspire more fear than a Lannister.'_

"I was told he found in a corner, roasted alive in his armor. The others had been scattered about, with their burnt forms littering the kitchens and common hall," Baelish seemed to find some amusement in Slynt's death, though she could not figure out why.

"And this new commander? I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him. Lee, was it?"

"Yes, your grace. He is a clever, though rigid man. Gold holds no interest for him, neither do women, nor wine, nor any kind of temptation that could be offered. Like Lord Stark and Lord Stannis, he is a man of singular focus." Baelish shifted on his heels, almost as if in anticipation. "Several of Lee's men watch my own, but they can be isolated if the situation requires."

"And what type of situation might that be?" she led on.

"Nothing comes to mind," he shrugged, holding his ledger to his back, and hiding his hands from view. "Though one should hope that this 'situation' is not on the horizon?"

"It may well be, Lord Baelish," her words came out as ice, and she stared him straight in his laughing grey-green eyes. "I would wish to know with whom you, and your men, stand?"

"With the crown, your grace," he nodded his head. "Always with the crown."

"Hmmm," she glanced at his collar and spotted a small bird pin that she had somehow missed earlier. "A Mockingbird?" she pointed. "The new sigil of your house?"

"Yes," the lord of the fingers replied, looking down at his neck to see the small metal pin.

"Do you know what the mockingbird does?" she queried, narrowing her eyes at his silence, a quiet smirk forming on her lips. "It mimics the sounds of others, birds mostly, insects too. Fascinating animal, such wonderful songs. Do you sing many songs, Lord Baelish?"

"Perhaps not as many as Varys' little birds, but I do have a collection of songs I like to call my own," the answer was smooth and polite.

"Tell me, what songs do you prefer singing? Mine, hers, or your own? Because we Lannisters have our own song. More of a roar really, but you know the one. I would hate for you to mimic what happened to the last people who sought to imitate our song," she rose from her seat, stalking toward the little lord from the fingers. "When the time comes," she touched his pin. "I trust you will make the correct decision."

"I always do," he smiled.


	58. (Dragonstone) Margaery V

(Dragonstone: 10/8/298 AC) Margaery V

She and Kai came upon the entrance to the Academy's small amphitheater. "Did we lose her?" she questioned, bracing herself against the study wooden leg of the archway. Fellow students surrounded them, their chatter nearly drowning her words out, yet Kai had heard them.

"I…think so," her friend replied through labored breaths, eyeing the passing students who were shooting confused looks of their own. He reclined opposite of her, partially hidden in the shadow of the arch, forehead glistening with sweat, mirroring her own. They looked at each other and chuckled. "Spirits, she runs fast. How did she see us?"

"The reflection of light off of the telescope," she added, catching her breath and glancing off to the side. Patting her small rucksack, she assured herself nothing had been left behind and looked up. There, over the crest of the hill, was the instructor, casually strolling towards the auditorium. Margaery's stomach sank like it was made of stone. Chi-Ha had not stared in their direction, but Margaery saw the focus in those golden eyes as they scanned the throng of students entering the theater grounds. _'She picked up our scent!'_ "Fuck! We need to go inside, now!" she reached for Kai's arm before he had a chance to look in the lieutenant's direction, and dragged him through the crowd.

"Hey! Watch it!" a student shouted, as she shoved past her, eyes glancing back every so often to make sure the instructor was not on their heels.

"Slow down," Kai winced at her iron grip.

She sniffed, smelling him before hearing him, that musky agarwood fragrance. Far too potent for her nose, yet charming for those others within that boy's circle.

"And where are we going in such a rush, my lady?" a lithe arm reached out, barring her path.

"I don't have time for this Takkar," she warned, eyes boring into those ever mocking golden rings. The boy's sycophants lingered nearby, seven of them, all dressed in immaculately pressed uniforms of red and gold vests, with long black sleeves and pants. They shared hushed whispers with one another, observing the exchange. The girl with the silvery hair, Syrah, a dragonseed she would have been called once upon a time, stood at the forefront of Takkar's group. Daughter of, Dorona, a peasant whose ancestors had been one of the families that had interbred with the Valyrians that once inhabited this rock, and ensign Kao-Sing. She and Takkar were rumored to be an item, yet neither had revealed any outward expressions of companionship.

He looked behind them, revealing that perfectly sharp smile with teeth white as milk. "Running from something, are we? Or someone?"

"You're going to be the one running if you don't get out of the way," their need for urgency had made Kai's temper rise, causing him to clench his fist, and lower his voice.

She had no need to start a fight, but she would finish it and kept the knuckles of her index finger raised and ready. Her eyes drifted to the pressure point, just below Takkar's shoulder, that would numb his arm.

"Oh? Is that so?" Chang's spawn tensed, the predatory smile never leaving his lips. Those annoying eyes were implacable, reading her own, daring both of them to strike. She noticed his lackeys slowly maneuvering to surround them.

"Funny how you and your lapdogs only grew a pair of stones once Ursa left," Kai stepped forward, taunting the boy and his followers with shades of the truth. Takkar had tried many times to break the records an eight-year-old Ursa had left behind, but he always failed. And as if to twist the knife even further, his only competition now was yet another young girl, the one from Bear Island, Maege Mormont. "You're still those little cockroaches who would flee from her shadow. Only dressed up nicer."

Takkar's eye twitched.

"Geez, it's getting kind of crowded in here," a soft voice interrupted, one both had been very familiar with. "Margaery!" Ty Lee exclaimed. "Excuse me," the Fire Lord's youngest pushed past the smug snake with the slick black hair and perfect top-knot. Her two armored guards followed closely behind, causing the gathered students to make a path. "If you would please allow my friends to come sit with me?" Ty Lee spared a look to Takkar. "They are late, and surely in rush to not keep me waiting."

Takkar stared at them a moment, then the two towering guards casting their shadows over them. He clicked his tongue before nodding his head and setting his eyes on her tiny friend. "Apologies, princess," he replied, then looked at her, "My lady. I did not know," he gave a respectable bow and let them pass, but not before whispering something in Kai's ear.

"Looking forward to it, little man," her friend replied, a stern look in his eyes, muscles taut. Takkar smiled as they withdrew into the auditorium, his hands clasped behind his back.

' _You're no Fire Lord, Takkar. Don't try imitating her,'_ Margaery thought. Kai's face seemed to show him thinking similarly.

With Takkar behind them, they followed Ty Lee down the rows of chairs, passing a trio of girls that whispered, "Steffon," as she passed. The front row held several empty seats, with another four already taken by Tima's little sister, Rina, and the three Mormont girls, Lyanna, Maege, and Azula.

"Ty Lee!" the other Azula shouted. "Margaery…" her cheeks turned beet red and she looked down, a shy smile on her lips. "Ser Kai…"

"Come, let's have a seat, the play is about to start!" Ty Lee giggled excitedly, rushing to seat herself near Maege, while she and Kai moved to the outer seats near Azula. The girl's eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"Maybe I should sit here?" she suggested, smirking at the little girl's shyness.

"No!" Azula yelped. "Ser Kai can seat here… _sit_ here," she corrected herself, fumbling with her hands in nervous anticipation.

She shared a knowing look with Kai and smiled before he shrugged and sat next to the enthusiastic little girl. The seat made a slight sound of compression, causing Kai to sink into the cushion.

"Hi," she heard the Mormont girl say, a bright smile on her adorable face.

"Hello," Kai looked sideways and replied awkwardly.

Taking her seat next to him she finally relaxed her aching legs, glancing back towards the entrance of the auditorium and seeing no sign of the instructor.

She felt Kai grow closer. "Do you think it wise to stay here?" he whispered.

"Why not? Running out of the play would only make us look more obvious, and then we would both be well and truly fucked," she replied, cupping her hand and muttering into his ear so the little ones, especially Ty Lee, could not hear her use of foul language.

"Shhh! Instructor Tima is about to speak!" the she-bear sitting across Ty Lee chastised, leafy green eyes burning with irritation.

' _That little Mormont girl, Lyanna, has more grit than many of the 'men'_ _attending the academy,'_ she snorted in delight, her eyes moving center stage to pay heed to the Academy's historian, standing before thick crimson curtains.

"Good afternoon students of the Academy," the instructor exclaimed, her words were soft, sweet, and slightly melodious. The majority of her fellow classmates became silent save for a particularly loud student towards the back of the auditorium. "If I could have your attention please?" she directed towards the boy.

Kai's temper rose, "Hey! Shut up!" he shouted, turning back to glare in the direction of the noisy student. It became deathly quiet, and all was well.

"Thank you, Kai," Tima smiled, looking down at him from the stage, and accepting his nod of acknowledgment. "Now, as you are all aware, this play has been months in the making. Those of you with Fire Nation parentage," the instructor looked somewhere off to the side of the audience, "or paid attention in my classes should have some sense of the reenactment to be presented here tonight." The historically inclined woman paced around the stage, her heels clacking all the way. "Those of you who are not of such parentage," she looked to the Mormont girls, then shifted her eyes to the middle section, "or are easily distracted, are in for a treat." The kindly historian returned center stage and paused, seemingly taking in the gathered crowd. "The first act will be of Roku's betrayal," the instructor withdrew her hands, placing one behind her back while the other gestured to the audience. "The second will display his defeat, and the final act will show the ultimate destruction of the Air Nomad menace and their barbarian hordes."

She felt Ty Lee shift and saw a concerned look cross her face. "Is everything alright?" she muttered to the young girl.

"I…" Ty Lee answered, "...think so. I just felt odd when she said that..." The small girl shut her eyes, and shook her head.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, drawing Kai and the Mormont girl's attention.

"Yes," Lady Azula's youngest replied uncertainly. "Just a memory, but I…it's nothing. Let's just watch the play," she reassured them, reclining in her seat. The instructor bowed out from the stage and disappeared off to the side behind a second set of curtains. Margaery cast a fleeting gaze towards Ty Lee, wondering why her normally bubbly face was scrunched up in apprehension _._

' _I hope she's alright…'_ Margaery cast a worried glance to the young Baratheon girl, before relaxing back into her seat and watching as the main curtain rose. A dual pair of low burning lanterns at either side of the stage provided an unearthly ambiance, revealing nothing of what hid in the shadows behind the four points of flame.

"So what did you see?" Kai asked, his voice barely rising above the soft scuttling of the sole individual, with short wavy black hair, who had taken the stage. "I heard that…that scream, but you just tugged my arm and told me to run," he continued, leaning in and distracting her train of thought.

"Look! It's Maia!" Rina whispered excitedly of her classmate.

Margaery spared a glance, spotting a single hanging lantern at the center of the platform burst to life, and illuminating a young girl. All eyes converged on Maia, who wore the bright red robes of a scholar, with black trim and sash, a silky sheen rippling throughout. Specially chosen to present the play, the girl had perfect marks in history and was instructor Tima's favored pupil. Her hazel eyes were soft, yet focused, her young voice stern as she uttered the words all had heard before, had read before, but never seen spoken in such grandiosity.

"I saw stars in a box," she answered, her eyes drifting between Kai and the stage. The chase, and meeting with Takkar, had almost made the incident slip her mind.

' _Crash!'_ a gong thundered somewhere off-stage, startling her.

 _A lantern suddenly burned brightly above a red banner bearing the Fire Nation word for, "Fire," the girl proudly stated, head held high. A lone female figure, facial features shrouded in shadow, and bearing royal attire similar to the Fire Lord's own, stood before the exotic lettering. She struck down into the wooden floor with a balled fist, before leaping, and following up with a strong kick. Bright red streamers shot out from the figure's hands and feet as each move was performed. The flame went out, and another next to it flared._

"Yeah! Fire!" several students hooted from somewhere towards the rear of the auditorium, causing a several of the attendees to clap.

"Stars?" Kai held a thoughtful frown, his large arms crossed over his chest. "You saw stars in a box? That just happened to roar like a cracking glacier? Had I not hear that sound, I would have thought you madder than the Mad King."

' _Boom!_ ' the unseen percussive instrument was struck once more, silencing the applause.

 _A source of light sprang to life, hovering just above a green banner with Fire Nation script. "Earth," Maia continued, a bit less enthusiastic than before. Emerging from the darkness, behind the lantern's light, stood another figure. Its face was concealed by a bull-shaped helmet. Thick muscles were hidden underneath dark green leggings and viridian arming doublet. Pristine and polished, a well-crafted breastplate, heavy pauldrons, and greaves completed the ensemble. A large stone hammer dangled at the armored man's right side, a black razor-whip on the other. The man stomped forward, quickly drawing and flourishing the hammer. He knelt, ending his display just as the flame above went out._

"They were slavers weren't they?" she heard someone whisper to the right of her, several seats down.

' _Whack!'_ she punched his arm. "It was more than that. Those lights were eyes. As far away as I was," she shivered, looking over her shoulder. The strange feeling of being watched caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. "I think it knew I was watching it. Then the instructor stepped up to it, and the whole thing exploded into a cloud of steam."

' _Bang!'_ the gong rang, its deep ominous sound echoing throughout the theater.

 _A banner, deep blue, slowly revealed itself with the increasing light of the lantern above it. "Water," Maia pronounced, with decreased fervor, translating the word written on the draped cloth. A woman with a jagged skull-like pattern painted across her face, partially shrouded in shadow, raised her hands forward. Shimmering blue streamers twirled around the actress, following the flowing movement of her ghostly looking dress. Thin fabrics of various blues and brilliant white danced around the woman like a whirlpool of liquid crystal._

"Sister? Doesn't she look like the pale woman in the tales mother told us about the Oth…" muttered the Mormont girl with the eye tattoo, who chittered excitedly with her younger sister, the one bearing the Fire Lord's name.

' _Witch,'_ she thought.

"The instructor?" Kai grunted, rising slightly from his seat to adjust his pants. "Which one?" he scoffed, "There are quite a few."

"Chang," she grumbled. Suddenly remembering her rucksack, she grasped at its worn leather strap and slid it down from over her shoulder. Margaery brought the small satchel to rest on her lap laying her hands on top.

"Shhh!" the eldest she-bear popped her head out four seats away, a menacing scowl on her small face, and scolded them all.

' _Crack_!' A final strike of the metallic disk signaled the final element.

" _Air," the lingering sound of the gong resonated with the young woman's word. A lantern above the last banner burned with an otherworldly intensity, casting odd shadows along the curtains. A bald man emerged from the reddish light, stepping into the forefront, the wooden paneling groaning in protest. Tattered orange robes, scraggly beard, skull necklace, and heavily tattooed body made the burly man look more like a drunken demon than a barbarian nomad. Despite his girth, the man moved swiftly, silvery twin streamers dancing before him like he was part air._

"That's…not what I imagined," she heard little Azula mutter.

"Neither did I," Ty Lee stated flatly, her soft voice carrying a stern undertone.

 _The girl, Maia, began narrating again, her voice serene, yet commanding. "Long ago, the four nations lived in strife." Rina's classmate paced around the stage, eyeing her, and the rest of the audience. "Only the Avatar," a disgusted sneer crept onto her thin lips. "Master of all four elements could end the darkness, but did not." The crowd grumbled, a low growl, animalistic, primal, she thought. "When the world called for peace, for an end to the darkness, no one answered," Maia pointed to them, her eyes drifting to and fro, jutting her finger out with every other word. "Then…" Margaery knew the girl had paused for effect, "everything changed when Fire Lord Sozin stood up against the Avatar who had betrayed his country, who had grown lax, and said 'no more.'"_

The hall began to rumble as nearly three hundred pairs of feet stomped on the floorboards. The pure-blood who sat towards the back, on the cushioned benches, rose and began chanting, "Sozin! Sozin! Sozin!" with religious zeal. Those that felt more kinship with the old world than the new, the half-bloods, added voice to the mantra, overwhelming the fevered cries of their high-born counterparts. She and Kai joined in half-heartedly, not wanting to seem out of place. Kai was always one for these chants, but at the moment Margaery knew her friend's mind was elsewhere.

"Sozin. Sozin. Sozin," the Mormont girls followed their example, while little Ty Lee remained silent. The youngest of the Fire Lord's brood bore a face full of anger, a fury so deep that her normally soft eyes burned like hot coals, almost glowing in the dim light. She had seen something like that only once when Ursa had nearly killed instructor Chang, but her eyes had been a cold fury, not the fiery one she saw now in Ty Lee's. The flames dimmed, the heated chants quieting soon thereafter. Crimson robes disappeared, shrouded in the darkness. She heard the curtains _'swish'_ , and saw movement in the gloom.

"So," Kai's chair creaked. "Anything else?" he mumbled.

The hanging lanterns hidden in the rafters, blazed into furious life, revealing an audience chamber. Drums beat in the background, a repetition of deep _'thumps'_ adding the proper ambiance to the formal setting. It was similar to the Fire Lord's own, she remembered from her youth, though far less elegant. Ty Lee's chair lay empty, and she turned, looking back from where they had entered, watching as the curtains of the exit swayed.

' _I don't think she is okay…'_ she lingered on the empty doorway before she caught something else, something she had seen many times before. Just out of the corner of her eye, a well-muscled frame, clad in military dress, sat just behind her, arms crossed, a face of chiseled stone standing out in the sea of hot-blooded youths. Those dull golden eyes, they stared right at her, and she snapped her head back toward the stage, nearly causing her small pack to slide off of her lap.

Margaery looked up at the stage, _'Maybe she didn't see me?'_ she slumped her shoulders in defeat. _'Oh, who am I kidding?'_

 _An older man with silver-streaked black hair, trimmed beard, and flawless topknot, sat in an ornately decorated chair of hearty redwood and fiery golden trim. "Roku! My friend!" he smiled, though his voice and face held a certain weariness, one born of leadership in hard times._

Margaery had seen that look on the Fire Lord herself, though she had never said that aloud.

 _Sozin rose from his seat, clad in exquisitely pressed and tailored silken robes, striding towards his friend, seemingly intent on embracing him. "You are a sight for sore eyes! The barbarians have attacked our western borders, thousands died. You must help us…to…"_

"Kai," she muttered. "Chi-Ha is right behind us…don't turn around."

 _Another man emerged from off-stage, a guarded look in his eyes. "Fire Lord Sozin," he answered, in a guttural tone. Roku mirrored the look of the Fire Lord's ancestor, down to the robes and silver-streaked hair, only taller, and with a mane of long, dark brown hair falling just past his broad shoulders._

Kai's response was measured, and calm. "We have to get the blazing hells out of here!" he whispered poorly.

"That would be unwise, cadet," a stern voice commanded, rearing up between them. "The Overseer would like to speak with you, but she did not want us to make a scene. Just sit back and enjoy the show," she patted Kai's shoulder. "No funny business or I'll break your legs, the both of you." Chi-Ha withdrew back into her seat.

 _A dark frown formed on Sozin's lips, "…fight them…" he finished, stepping back from his friend. "Something tells me you have not come to help us? Help me?" Atop their heads lay immaculate imitations of both the Fire Lord's and Ursa's crowns._

Fire Lord Sozin and Avatar Roku, brought to life at the Fire Lord's insistence. Even with her Westrosi heritage, she still felt a sense of awe at seeing those two men, actors, though they were.

" _No, I have not," the Avatar answered. "I have come to tell you to let them be."_

" _Let them be!?" Sozin roared, the fury clear on his face. The torches along the walls flared in anger. "Have you seen what they have done!? To us, to my people? To our people!?"_

" _I have," Roku answered dispassionately. "There is a balance that must be maintained, old friend."_

" _Allowing thousands of innocents to die, is not balance, old friend," Sozin growled, his body tensing in preparation for a fight that all knew was coming. "That's madness…and I will have none of that…Agni Kai…."_


	59. (King's Landing) Lady Stork V

(King's Landing: 10/8/298 AC) Lady Stork V

 _'An evening meeting? It must be important if she roused me from the servant's quarters of the castle,'_ she yawned, sauntering unescorted, and unguarded, down the brightly lit cobblestone pathway leading to the Fire Lord's manse. Her hood and cloak swayed in the light breeze, the scented woolen scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth kept the foul smell of the city at bay. A squad of eight city watchmen, headed by one of Azula's men, patrolled along the path, passing a group of well-guarded noblewomen chattering about whatever meaningless drivel had been relevant in today's court.

"One last pass through the area, before we move onto the next block," the squad commander ordered, grasping at his blade and marching forward, Fire Nation armor resplendent and unmarred. A dark sky, deep purple bordering on black, hung above them all, the last rays of the day's light reduced to a quickly fading orange glow over the horizon.

"Sir, yes sir!" the men following replied. Four of them were in full Flameguard plate and armed with longswords bearing the standard Fire Nation hilts of black leather with golden teardrop flame. The final three, unimpressive as they were and lacking the red sashes of the others, were clad in simple mail armor, black gloves, and boots. Iron cudgels hung loosely at their sides.

 _'Ugh, and those stupid tin hats.'_

She stole a glance towards the noblewomen several paces ahead, tugging at her hood, and drawing it closer to her face, while nuzzling her nose further into her soft black scarf. The times she had impersonated the Fire Lord had her subjected to such nonsense far too many times, but she also knew to keep her ears open, just in case. Even amongst the clamor of the city, she was aware. Being a mummer for so long had taught her how to read a crowd's faces, isolate their voices, no matter how soft, no matter how loud, but being trained by the Fire Lord had made her so much more.

 _'Suspect them all, no exceptions,'_ a familiar voice of steel and silk echoed in her mind.

Even now, amongst the people she could see, eight had caught her eye as Lady Azula's spies. Some were paid in coin, though not many. Others, the more insidious ones, had been composed of elderly nobles on the verge of death. Their failing bodies and increasingly muddled minds had provided the Fire Lord an opportunity that she could not resist. With no friends or family to question them, those few had been replaced, their wealth and influence had become hers, and no one had been the wiser.

 _'A dark secret that even Lord Stannis knew not, and one that I was to never to reveal,'_ she shivered, knowing that any attempt to do so would have ended before it started. _'The Fire Lord is a dangerous woman to cross.'_

"Where do you suppose Prince Oberyn went off to?" a well-fed woman tittered, clad in silks and fine jewelry that made her look like colored dough who had taken a shine to rubies and emeralds.

"Last I heard, he was at the tea house with the Lady Azula," another giggled suggestively, fanning herself. The youngest and most comely of the group held big green eyes, her dress hinting at a suppleness Stork had only known in her youth.

"I doubt that very much, Karla," a sour-faced woman scoffed, trotting along with the rest of them in gaudy yellow slippers. "The Lady of Dragonstone only spoke with him during the feast to keep up appearances. She has shown no interest in the Prince, not in that way. She's too loyal to Lord Stannis."

 _'Hmmmm, a new one of Azula's?'_ she supposed, glancing at the woman, looking for red gems, or hints of disguise and finding nothing. _'Perhaps not, though she certainly plays the role of empty-headed idiot well enough,'_ a light snort escaped her lips, the thought reminding her of the Queen.

"A questionable choice," a third woman muttered under her breath. She was slimmer than the first, but not by much, her hair was lined with thin gray streaks. The woman quietly regarded the Fire Lord's extravagant home covetously. The gaggle of women scuttled off into a nearby residence and disappeared, their voices muffled by a sturdy oaken door. She continued forward, passing the ugly wooden entryway the women had just entered, towards the Fire Lord's manse, which stood at the end of the long path. Nearly forty people stood in between her and her destination, along with a thick, darkly colored, stone barrier surrounding the perimeter of the estate. Reaching just below the tip of the main door's archway, a towering, spiked, black-iron gate locked the barricade together.

Her heels clicked along the stones, merging with the noises of others, nearly masking the pair of heavy footfalls coming up behind her. "We have to wait until she's alone…" a man whispered in a husky tone.

 _'Qohorik,'_ she recognized the guttural accent.

"This would be easy work if they didn't want her alive, and if she wasn't heading for the fucking manse. I don't know why she's worth so much, but I don't think following her into the butcher's den will see us collecting any bounty worthwhile," a smoother voice, almost highborn, replied.

 _'A bounty? Interesting…'_

"We can wait until she comes out," the deeper voice suggested.

"Whatever we do, we best be quick about it," a third man grunted, his accent hinting at a Pentoshi origin. "I didn't follow the woman around the entire day just to fail now. And those damned Goldcloaks will come back. She has people everywhere, you can't walk too far in this stinking shit-pile of a city without seeing someone prancing around in the Butcher's colors."

"Then circle around, and keep an eye on the patrols. The deal we had with Slynt is worth shit now, so don't expect any special protection," the highborn voice proposed.

"You think the woman had something to do with it?"

"Not unless should could control fire and was actually in the city when the pig died," the second man scoffed.

 _'Slynt? Who do these fools work for? They seem far too eloquent for mere cutthroats. Only the Spider suspected, did he reveal the truth?'_ even deep in thought, confidence was in her every step as she trudged along in the darkening gloom. The lingering nobles were blissfully unaware of the 'dangerous' men stalking the poor defenseless mummer from Braavos. _'Or so it would seem,'_ she frowned, not turning to face whomever the trio were, instead choosing to survey the path before her, all lined with the manses of lesser lords and ladies who benefited from her lady's presence within this corner of the city. The way was gradually clearing of people, all having begun to retire into the comfort of their homes for the night, or retreating down the scattered paths into different areas of the city. As far as she was concerned, it was only her and the three individuals behind her, with extras littered amongst the stage floor for dramatic effect.

"Well she does have all those fucking red priests," rough Qohorik drifted into her ears. "Those guards up ahead. We will return later…" their footsteps withdrew, disappearing behind her.

 _'This street is lousy with the Lady's spies. They won't get far,'_ she reassured herself.

 _"That man is very difficult,"_ she recalled the Fire Lord's words, as she exited her personal chambers in a huff, nostrils flaring, arms crossed. Their first night in King's Landing had been eventful, she remembered. Rage had been strewn across her Lady's face, _"Come, Stork. What pittance my husband has offered must be put to use. The miscreants nesting in King's Landing demand a firm, guiding hand, which innocently offers gold and silver to help them along."_

As she approached the iron gate, the two Flameguard stationed in front raised their arms, preventing her from stepping forward. She lowered her scarf, and looked them in the pale white eyes she knew were hidden behind the nightmarish skull faceplates forged on Dragonstone. "I have business with the Fire Lord," she stated, allowing the Repurposed a good look at her face, before reciting the words of passage low enough for only them to hear. "Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way."

The unnatural men lowered their arms and reached out to open the spiked gate, which released an almost exhausted-like groan. She passed through, looking up, and marveled at the thing. No matter how many times she had seen it, the manse had never lost its striking appearance. Taking up the spaces of five former plots, and boasting a thick 'concrete' foundation, a secret from the Lady Azula's homeland, the monstrous thing was riddled with immense red stone walls and hidden steel skeletons, towering above the rest. A series of fourteen stone steps led up to a massive reinforced door, atop of which stood a rearing iron stag with hollowed out head, eyes, and a gaping mouth. A flame, furious and bright, burned within the hollows of the stag's head, making it seem more like a demon than a simple animal. At either side stood iron statues, representing her lord and lady.

 _'Similar to the ones at the Academy,'_ she noted, watching as the banner of the burning stag wafted just below the imposing lifeless figures. The manse had seemed more like a facility, than a home, after having been completed four years earlier, with the architect's guidance. Stork remembered the levels of security the Fire Lord had implemented for the outside of the building, _'steel plate this, reinforced that.'_ Lord Stannis had balked at the cost, although the Lady Azula did finally manage to persuade him otherwise.

 _'Hmph, say what you will of her, but she certainly has a way with words. Like mother, like son,'_ the former Braavosi mummer grinned, climbing up the steps as she did, passing yet another duo of Repurposed, and a single red priestess seated within an alcove just off to the side.

Concealed within the deep shadows of the pillars lining the main entrance, the priestess spoke, head popping out from the shadows, smiling her polite smile. "Good evening, my lady, the Fire Lord expects you." Deep brown eyes searched her own, as the woman rose from her golden seat, bringing her hands together and bowing respectfully.

"Yes, I know. Thank you, and have a good evening," she replied politely, waiting as the Flameguard opened the colossal door.

"You as well," the red worshipper smiled, as the door creaked open just enough to let her pass.

She looked up, passing under the shadow of the burning stag. A quick glance to her side found an empty golden chair where the red priestess had sat only moments before.

The manse held the distinct aroma of cherry blossom. Stone flooring, plush carpets, and low torchlight ran down the length of the hall, symmetrical and balanced. Beautifully made artwork lined the walls of the clean and uniform building, disguising their innate lethality. _'A most unwelcome, welcome, to surprise visitors.'_ By the foot of the entrance, she spied several pairs of boots and moved to remove her own footwear, placing them next to the Fire Lord's own.

 _'Who else is here, I wonder?'_

Candles burned between the legs of every archway she passed. While most had been sealed shut with iron doors, only one remained open. The hall where her Lady would entertain guests never remained closed. The large room was unlit, a wooden table rested upon a red, gold-trimmed, carpet laid at its center, grander than even the table of the small council. A line of Fire Nation and Flameguard armors rested along the perimeter of the room, most of which were displayed on dummies of cloth and wood, though she suspected at least a few had been real. The windows were locked tight, and in the shadows of the rafters, she could feel them staring at her.

 _'The Kemurikage,'_ she shuddered, pressing on down the hall.

The Lord and Lady Baratheon's private quarters lay only a turn away, so she continued forward. _'The manse of the Burning Stag is a death trap,'_ she reminded herself, knowing that anything made with the Fire Lord's input was bound to be. The interior of the manse was brimming with arrows, bolts, wires, darts, and spikes, all triggered by something or another, and all unseen. The mummer's bare feet padded along, cushioned by the soft carpet underneath, which itself held a sharp secret for those who were not light of foot. She knew how to get around them, of course, but she was always cautious. _'It's a wonder no one has questioned why they never have more than a handful of guests at any one time,'_ the idle thought flashed in her mind, causing a slight chuckle. At least none that Stork had known, though she recalled all the boxes of tea that had been transported out of the manse the night following Jon Arryn's death. _'A great many someones failed that day,'_ she shuddered at the memory, briefly wondering if those 'someones' had failed in their attempt to kill the Fire Lord or in their efforts to protect the Lord of the Vale.

Even now, as she walked down the hall, she could almost feel the pointed steel of crossbow bolts pricking at her skin, and the shadowed eyes following her, concealed behind the tapestries and paintings of the various battles Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula had fought. Some extravagantly depicted the actual battles while others were more subdued and metaphorical. The Fire Lord enjoyed the former in paintings.

 _"The fear. The utter despair in those men's eyes. Exquisite,"_ the Lady would state time and again.

 _"I prefer to differ, mother. These are more artistic, imaginative,"_ Ser Steffon would say, preferring the latter in their tapestry forms

She paused and turned to fully gaze upon the painting depicting a large black stag, standing atop a single white rock surround by a sea of red. Its head was held high, a tangle of golden roses burning upon its fiery antlers. _'This was the only one they both agreed was beautiful,'_ she recalled, feeling the eyes of the Kemurikage or the Repurposed that surely hid behind it _. 'Though Steffon did take some issue with the roses._ '

 _'Fair Isle, and the Stepstones,'_ her eyes wandered down to the neighboring painting and tapestry, before continuing on. She turned the corner and spotted the gold-framed entryway into the Fire Lord's chambers. Five armored giants of men silently guarded the door. Two other men, smaller and helmetless, sat upon gilded chairs. A circular Pai-Sho board and a bottle of half-finished ale rested on a small wooden table between them.

"Give it up, Greyjoy," the disheveled Red Priest taunted.

"What's the matter, priest? Is Thoros of Myr worried the Pirate's Bane will trounce him?" Theon countered.

"Make it easy on yourself and just give up," Thoros replied, taking a deep swig of the drink between them.

 _'Ahem,'_ she cleared her throat.

"Stork!" the Thoros stated, eyes blinking in surprise, a slight slur in his voice. The red priest of Myr rose, revealing bare feet, and embraced her in a tight hug.

The Greyjoy boy followed soon after, sharing the state of their naked feet, and presenting a lordly bow. "My lady."

"Thoros?" she pushed the man away, casting a nod of acknowledgment towards the Fire Lord's Ironborn ward.

 _"Unprofessional, and unkempt. What an embarrassment,"_ the Lady Azula's words, her annoyance, rang in her mind. Never sharing her husband's opinion on the man, the Fire Lord often stated such things on more than one occasion.

"Am I late? I was told…" she could feel beads of sweat beginning to form upon her brow.

"Oh! No, no," the man reassured her. "One of the high priest's emissaries from Volantis paid the Fire Lord a visit. She, Lord Stannis, and Ser Steffon are in there now conversing with the man."

"Is it serious?"

"Hells if I know," Thoros shrugged, returning to his seat.

"Steffon and I had come on other business," Theon added, "when we saw the Lady Azula escorting the man inside. She did not seem surprised or displeased at his appearance, but then again…"

"She's the Fire Lord," she finished his words.

Greyjoy nodded, before returning to his seat, across from the priest of Myr. She moved to sit upon a 'plain' wooden chair resting along the right side wall. Passing her hand over the left armrest, she found was she was looking for, the engraved stag head. A gentle press, followed by a measured twist, had the wooden tip release a sharp _'click.'_ As she sat, she felt the soft cushion flatten comfortably beneath her, allowing her body a slight reprieve from the day's woes.

 _'The Fire Lord will summon me when she's done with her guest,'_ the Braavosi mummer knew, seeing no need to intrude upon whatever grievances or requests the Red Temple had for the woman of Dragonstone. _'Their chosen one,'_ she snorted, unbelieving of the faith, though not doubting her Lady's power. Instead, she elected to rest her weary head against the chair's cushioned backing, closing her eyes to further enjoy her respite. The sounds of the Pai-Sho pieces knocking against the wooden play board proved a soothing distraction, and she dozed off.

Even half asleep, her eyes shot open, and she rose to her feet, as the door handle began creaking from the other side. Thoros and the Greyjoy boy were reclined in their seats, their game having apparently long since ended as both seemed to be sharing her exhaustion, judging by their loud snores. Several voices emanated from within, muffled behind the thick wooden door, one unmistakably belonging to the Fire Lord, the other to Lord Stannis, and a third to an unknown speaker.

"Write to the high priest. Give him my best," a velvety voice uttered, revealed by the opening of the expensive entryway. A large man, with a mane of pure white hair, skin black as coal, and clad in scarlet robes, stepped out into the hall. Red-and-orange tattoos were inked across his cheek and forehead, and within his large hands was a staff of iron, rising tall enough to nearly surpass the Flameguard at his side. Greyjoy and Thoros had awakened sometime in the sudden commotion, causing both to rise to their feet.

 _'This man feels familiar,'_ she thought, wondering on if she had ever had dealings with him during her time in Braavos, yet coming up short.

"And tell him, once my affairs here are in order I will hold counsel with him in Volantis, as agreed," the Lady Azula concluded, her hand resting on the door's edge. "Let no one say, the Fire Lord is not true to her word."

The man bowed after turning to face the Fire Lord with an enigmatic expression on his face. "You are the chosen child of R'hllor, and your shadow is vast. The reach of your light, however, will be greater still. I was not sent to force you to accept me, this I know, and anticipated. I was sent only to offer you guidance in the wars to come. Guidance which will prove invaluable to the Lord's chosen."

"I am sure it will be," the woman answered. "However, like the others, you will start as they all do. I am not predisposed to accepting complete strangers into my counsel until I test the mettle of their loyalty. You understand? If you wish to serve me, I will allow you to accompany me to Dragonstone, where I will have Cyvia gauge you."

"Cyvia? A true child of R'hllor, that one," he said in an even tone, masking the meaning of his words. "She rose from scrubbing the floors of the temple to serving at the foot of Azor Ahai herself. Her faith was well rewarded it seems."

"Indeed it was," the Fire Lord narrowed her eyes. "Now if there is anything else?"

"Nothing," the large priest replied, a quaint smile rested upon his lips as he bowed his head once more.

"Good. If you are still within the city when I depart, I will send for you," Lady Azula's lips were tight, her hand seemed almost ready to tear the thick door from its hinges. "Thoros!" she barked, catching herself, and clearing her throat. "Escort him out of the manse," the Fire Lord ordered, likely knowing full well that it would not have been prudent for the 'Lord's chosen' to have a red priest die in her home. The priest of Myr offered a stiff nod as reply.

"Come, brother," Stannis' man ushered away the strange priest from Volantis.

Golden eyes focused in on the retreating forms of the red followers before turning to her. "Stork," the Lady sighed, rubbing at her temples. "You may enter," she retreated back into the room, leaving the way clear for her to pass.

Passing through the threshold of the room felt like a welcome relief after the long day she had had, dodging the Queen's spies. Lord Stannis sat at his desk, as his son reclined against the wall of the room, near the bookcase, arms crossed, and seemingly lost in thought. The door shut behind her, _'Closed by one of the Flameguard, no doubt,'_ she reasoned.

"Sit," the Lord of Dragonstone commanded from his desk.

A chair near the Fire Lord presented itself, and she found soft cushions surrounding her in her velvet seat, as she sat.

 _'Softer than the chair outside,'_ she noted.

"Of all the times Benerro could have summoned me, he chooses _now_? Bah! As if I already didn't have enough to deal with, now on top of whatever creature we have on Dragonstone, Oberyn's sudden interest in accompanying me there, and Lord Stark's _planned_ visit, now this man wants to join in on the _'fun,'_ " the Fire Lord huffed, her bare feet skimming across the lion pelts carpeting the floor near the small extravagantly carved wooden table. Azula threw herself upon the cushioned bench, near Lord Stannis' desk, and massaged her head. A small brass bell sat atop the small golden table, with a flame motif, resting at her side.

 _'Bigger than the one in the apartment.'_

"Is everything alright, mother?" the handsome Baratheon knight questioned, his voice sure and calming.

"That man's staff. It contained traces of Wildfire," she hissed, lowering her hands from her head, the headache having apparently subsided. "I could feel it. Taste it. Disgusting."

"Why did you remain silent on your discomfort?" Stannis asked, a hint of something in his voice. Whether it was a tone of annoyance, or concern, or both, she was unsure, only that it was there.

"I don't show weakness to outsiders, husband, you know that. I am not some helpless maiden that needs rescuing at every turn," she smirked knowingly. Whatever tone Stannis had held, the Fire Lord had recognized and seemed amused.

"Hmph," the man snorted.

"Do you think the man's sudden appearance has anything to do with the creature?" Steffon continued on the previous topic, striding from his perch against the wall to an empty chair opposite the Lady Azula.

"It seems far too coincidental to not be true," Stannis offered. "The red priests are a strange lot. Some may be charlatans, but others…"

"But how? We only captured the damn thing a few days ago," her Yi-Tish features were scrunched in thought, fingers at her chin. "That's nowhere near enough time for someone to have found out, and written to the Red Temple. Let alone enough time to have sent a priest."

"Unless the creature really is what they say it is…" the young knight pondered aloud.

"Then it should be killed," a steely voice thundered.

 _'What are they talking about?'_

"If it isn't just some fairy tale then it will be," the woman countered. "After we deal with those other matters, we can reveal the truth to the King, and see what he desires, but not before. Though conventional wisdom would state otherwise."

"My brother is not a conventional man," Lord Stannis retorted.

"No, he is not," the golden-eyed Lady of Dragonstone agreed.

"And what of Lord Stark?" cool blue eyes focused upon brilliant gold.

"I suppose the best thing to do is reveal the King's bastards, then show him. Lying to him would not serve us well, especially if he finds out after the fact. Though telling him the truth also presents its own risks. He may choose to return north to reinforce his lands, and while that would be the best course of action, especially if the creatures are massing somewhere past the Wall, it leaves us with little allies," the Fire Lord shot a glance towards her son. "That is, of course, assuming you haven't gotten through to the boy?"

 _'Creatures past the wall? It can't be…'_

"He is a guarded man," Steffon replied. "Though our conversations have revealed cracks."

"Hmmm, well whatever the case, the creature is secure in the caverns. Apparently, it is deathly afraid of Dragonglass. Another coincidence, considering where I chose to have the caverns built. Though, in this regard, it does serve us well."

 _'Ahem.'_

"Oh yes, I forgot," her paymaster remembered, clicking her tongue. "Perhaps you are wondering why we are meeting here and not in the apartment? Yes?"

She nodded, though really she had not been wondering about that. "Yes, Fire Lord."

"I will be leaving soon, and I want you away from Cersei in my absence, starting tonight. Any meetings will be held here, at my husband's request, from now on, in order to ensure you continue living a long fruitful life, until my return," the woman's eyes were flat, and commanding, brokering no conversation on the matter.

 _'Why did you not do the same when you had left for the North?'_

"I had not taken such an interest in your well-being when I had departed for Winterfell because the Queen had been accompanying me there. Unfortunately, she will be remaining here," Azula paused, smirking to some hidden jest, "for the time being."

"Ah, and how am to tell the Queen that I will be gone?" she questioned. "And what of my belongings in the Servant's Quarter of the castle?"

"You won't have to. I will speak to her, and gather your belongings, for you. She will be informed that I will be taking you with me. You will have the guest room on the second floor and a Flameguard protector. So do not step foot outside of the manse, and stay away from the windows. I assure you, Stork, this will only be a temporary accommodation, and once I return we will back to business as usual. Now," Azula grasped at the bell to her side and rang. "You may leave."

The door latch scraped against the door as it groaned open. "Yes, my Lady," she bowed, turning on her heels, and marching away, out of the room. Behind her, she heard the Fire Lord utter one last thing, not to her, but to Lord Stannis and Ser Steffon.

"Oh, by the way, husband. I seem to have missed my moon's blood…"

 _'Clang!'_ the door shut behind her, muffling the unmistakable voice of Lord Stannis.


	60. (Winterfell) Arya III

(Winterfell: 10/9/298 AC) Arya III

The cold winds howled, and she shivered, bundling up tightly within her light gray wolf skin. Thick woolen pants and coat, covered thinner clothing underneath. Even in the freezing, all-encompassing blizzard, the furred skin made her feel safe and warm, as she trudged along the waist deep snow, her legs dragging like iron weights.

' _This place, where have I seen it?'_ she wondered, thinking on the few times she had left the confines of Winterfell.

Arya did not know how long she had been struggling against the unrelenting snowstorm, only that it had felt like forever. Out in the distance, nearly invisible in the white void, she spied a large somber-looking building. Destination discovered, she pressed on, _'Crunch,'_ and on, _'crunch,'_ heading for the dreary thing, and the shelter it promised.

The snow grew thicker as she walked, the beating wind rising to a near deafening pitch. Her hair whipped about her face, stinging like blades against her skin.

' _Crack!' 'Crack!'_ the sounds of breaking ice emerged from below and above, surrounding her, hidden out in the maddening whiteness. She grew cautious and shuffled along carefully, unsure if the sound hinted at her standing atop a frozen river, until something grabbed her foot.

" _Aggggh!"_ she screeched, kicking off whatever appendage lay hidden beneath the milky white snow.

The ground rumbled, and the packs of snow began rippling, causing her to lose her footing and fall head first into the deep silvery substance. Her body sank into the ice, and she flailed, lifting her head to see a pair of icy blues eyes staring at her from a frozen, nearly skeletal, corpse. It opened its black maw and let out a blood-curdling scream.

" _Ahhh!"_ she shot out of her snowy grave and ran for the building. All around her, she saw others rising from graves of their own, all with baleful blue eyes. Men, women, and children, decayed and dead, wearing cloth rags, clad in rusted armors of full plate and Fire Nation leathers, each letting out screams of their own. All of their cries were strange and ill, sounding more like ancient malice given voice, than the usual commotion of the living.

' _ARH-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!'_ a wolf howled from somewhere, hidden deep within the snowy tempest, drawing her attention past the dead. A decision she had quickly grown to regret, as hordes of frozen, rotting animals charged at her from the grey, sharing the same azure gleam as the dead men who rose around her. Lions and bears roared with unnatural fury, and stags cried. Further back, she saw numerous pairs of blue stars.

' _Woosh!'_ a sudden gust of wind nearly threw her off her feet as a massive shadow passed above, its owner unseen in the angry billowing sky. Her lungs began burning, chest heaving, as she sprinted through a snowbank, narrowly dodging a grasping hand that sprung out from the snow until the shadow flew over once more.

' _A dragon?'_ she looked up, remembering having seen illustrations of them before, from the books of Winterfell's own maester Luwin. The dragon landed a fair distance away, to her left, and she held out the tiniest of hopes that it would save her, but its open eyes revealed the same hateful sapphire look of the others. As the dead began closing in, her small legs threatened to give out beneath her. Arya knew the encroaching building, ' _a fortress_ ,' she saw clearly now, would not be able to protect her from them all. However, she would not surrender, or give in to despair. _'Ursa wouldn't.'_

Gradually, she began noticing the dead at her sides starting to dissipate, though she was unsure of those at her back. The animals she could see turned tail and ran, the decaying people following soon thereafter, sinking back into the snow.

' _Almost seems like they are afraid of the fortress and its steel gate.'_

She stopped at the archway of the gate, and Arya Stark, the underfoot, Wolfguard of Ursa Baratheon, had turned heel expecting to see an army of the dead. Her eyes, however, had revealed an empty crystalline field. The youngest of the Stark girls felt a cool, calming, wind run through her, more than likely, disheveled hair.

' _Even the dragon is gone,'_ she sighed in relief.

Seeing no signs that anything had followed her, she turned to face the gate once more. Picked up by the gentle wind, sheets of parchments wafted towards her, disappearing into the snow surrounding the area. Mounds of books, taller than she, lay piled haphazardly under the beat-up old gate leading into the central courtyard of the fortress. As she passed under the shadow of the steel gateway and made her way into the grand stone enclosure, she found that not only books littered the area, but dense packs of snow.

' _Tall as Old Nan had once said of them when she had been in her youth,'_ she recalled, with a morbid curiosity, observing the lumps of whiteness that lay dispersed throughout. _'No. Even larger than that…'_

At the center of the courtyard stood a large stone statue, broken and cracked in parts, face smashed, but clearly depicting a woman with sword hand raised, standing atop a large, multi-armed beast, with numerous sets of eyes and razor teeth embedded within a monstrous cow-like skull. The creature's back held scales like a snake but were considerably thicker, longer, and sharper than any scales she had ever seen.

' _A wall of gigantic icicles.'_

' _CAW!'_ a crow called out above her.

Arya's eyes darted upward, scanning the many windows lining the upper balconies of the courtyard, finding nothing but openings into shadowed rooms, or closed wooden shutters.

' _Hmmm, must be coming from one of the open rooms,'_ she reasoned, looking back down towards the foot of the stone sculpture. A dying stag, gasping for breath, greeted her eyes. From her view, she realized that two of its antlers had been broken, but by what, and where they had disappeared to, she could not say.

"Poor thing," she whispered, stepping forward to circle the animal and see its belly. Arya gasped, seeing what poor state the stag had truly been in, as a pool of its life's blood gushed out from its ripped open chest, revealing a feverishly beating heart burning within a brilliant white flame. Terrified of the gruesome scene, she turned away and nearly screamed in terror at the small doe that had appeared behind her. Intense golden eyes stared right through her, piercing her soul, and Arya felt a sense of familiarity concealed within its withering glare.

' _At least it's not one of the dead,'_ relief washed over her as the dainty animal grew closer and planted its shiny wet nose against her left cheek. Suddenly, the doe's head perked up and it bolted past, heading for the quickly expiring stag. Arya felt an inexplicable sadness as she watched the small creature nuzzle the larger one, giving only the faintest of bleats as the doe dropped to its knees, and rested its head against the stag's thick neck. There it remained, small head rising and falling to the large creature's shallow breaths until at last the stag was still.

Arya felt a wetness in her eyes and sniffled, but she did not understand why. _'I hold no kinship with these animals. So why do I feel sad?_ ' she asked herself, looking to the doe.

The dainty thing seemed uncertain, and even though its eyes were large and glassy, they still held that dazzling golden glow. After a moment, the animal shifted its attention to the still burning heart within the dead stag's chest and pressed its nose against it, releasing a blinding flash of light that overtook the courtyard and her senses. When the light finally abated, she saw endless night beneath a starless sky. In the darkness, she heard four sounds and four voices.

 _A woman roared in pain, her gasps and words sounded erratic, frantic._

"Like mother, when she had Rickon," she mumbled to no one in particular.

" _I am not a monster!" the woman cried between labored breaths. "You are! No!" she heard what sounded like wood scraping against a stone floor, and telltale blasts of flame._

" _Keep her still," a voiced entered her mind, calm and commanding._

' _A far more mannish tone, but its similar to Ursa's'_ she noted.

" _Hold her down! We cannot lose our child!" the man bellowed in a voice that sounded so terrified, and so near, that it was almost as if she had been in whatever room the people had shared._

" _A thousand apologies, my lady!" another man, with a far mellower voice joined the fray._

" _Don't you dare touch me, you drunken priest! No! I am better than you! Get away! Better than you both! Arrgghhh!" she heard flames once more. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Get. This. Out. Of. Me!" the lady grunted amidst the sounds of wood and stone, scraping and clashing, against one another. "Mhhhmmnnnnn!" the woman strained for quite some time, before finally sighing, and collapsing into a bed. A sound which Arya knew intimately well._

" _Waaaaaaaaaaaa," she heard a baby's cry, gentle and weak, emerging from the clamor._

" _I am better than the both of you. I am…"_

' _That voice!'_ Arya knew it, had memorized it from the moment she had heard her speak, but never had she heard it shout. _'Azula.'_

" _Haha. I will be a better mother than you! And a better Fire Lord than you! Haha!" the laugh held no mirth and a certain cruelty, but it was weak from exhaustion._

" _Waaaaa…" the infant's cry had grown considerably weaker, but the voice of Azula had not seemed to notice._

" _I know just what to call her, husband. Ur…sa…" a wooden bed frame creaked._

' _Ursa!'_

 _She heard feet scuttle across a stone floor. Whatever room from which the voices came had grown silent, apprehensive. "She will live. Childbirth will not be her end."_

" _waaa….." the baby had let out its final cry._

' _It can't be, Ursa's alive…something's wrong,'_ she knew, and in the emptiness, Arya found herself beholding a crimson light arising from the east. To the she-wolf, it looked like a mountain of burning coals. Reddish and almost white hot, but not quite, and moving, bringing the light with it.

" _Healer! Come quickly!" shouted the man with the gravelly voice._

As the thing grew closer, she tried withdrawing, but her feet would not move. There she remained, rooted to the spot, frightfully aware that whatever burning monster was stalking towards her would be her end.

 _Hurried footfalls and fevered moments of hands, followed by a deep silence, echoed in the blackness. "Apologies, my lord. But the child is dead."_

" _No, I do not accept that! You are the master healer of 'the Ozai' are you not? Then heal her, bring her back, or answer to your Fire Lord when she awakens!"_

" _My lord?" the warm voice from before spoke once again. "If you would allow me?"_

" _And what will you do, priest?" both voices had sounded dismissive of the man._

" _I will speak the words of R'hllor, and see if they take root…"_

It was then that the form of the creature was made clear. "You?" she asked, looking upwards at the now towering figure of the doe from before. Trails of shadowy vapor rippled off of its body like smoke.

' _It's taller than even the main tower of Winterfell.'_

The animal's formerly frail-looking body glowed in an ethereal crimson light that was reminiscent of a freshly lit brazier. Brilliant golden eyes, brighter than the sun, looked down upon her, gauging her soul and measuring her worth. In spite of this, the little wolf felt her spirit rise as she was illuminated in the pure light. She had but a moment to adjust before the ground burst into life, and found her sitting beneath a canopy of leaves sprouting from green trees.

' _Where am I now?'_ She wondered, scanning her surroundings and discovering rays of light shining through the branches above. The doe had vanished, but she could still feel its presence granting her courage.

' _Crack!'_ she stepped forward, the scattered bits of broken branches lining the grounds of woods giving away her every move.

' _Snap!'_

"Another branch," Arya grumbled, perplexed on why her feet were being unusually uncooperative in keeping quiet. In the distance, she spotted a clearing where bright rays of light shone through, creating an idyllic looking resting area with a largish tree situated in the centermost area of the glade.

' _Crunch! Thwack!'_ the sounds of breaking twigs followed her as she ventured forth through the brush, pulling at stray twigs that found themselves caught in her wild hair. Even though she had thrown stepping lightly to the wind, she kept her eyes open, and ears alert. Looking this way and that had revealed nothing to the Underfoot, but empty woodland, until at last she had arrived at the edges of the dell.

A watery blue sky filled with spots of fluffy whiteness lingered just above. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, she surveyed the area and noticed several roses, both red and blue, scattered about. Stepping forward had issued no sounds of snapping twigs or brittle underbrush, only of small feet padding along the soft grass.

' _Winter roses?'_ Arya reached down to pluck at the blue flower near the base of her feet until something caught her ear. _'Voices!'_ she recognized, originating from somewhere just behind the tree at the center of the dene. The she-wolf carefully slunk ahead, resting her back fully against the large tree, listening in to what few words she could hear.

"What of the king? Will he not…" she heard a young woman say with a slight quiver, the apprehension evident in her tone.

"My father is not the greatest of my concerns," a man replied in a voice that reminded her of somewhat of her brother, Jon. Arya slithered around the thick tree trunk, with the intention of getting a better view of the two speakers just on the other side.

"Robert?" the woman asked, just as Arya had reached the end of her side of the tree.

' _King Robert?'_ she wondered, twisting her head as far right as she could until the corner of her eyes caught sight of a handsome young man with silver-gold hair speaking to a northern-looking woman with lusterless brown locks and a longish face similar to her own. _'A Targaryen?'_ the stories her father told of the Targaryens and their famous silvery-white hair had bubbled up within her mind.

"He will not understand," the silver-haired man answered, face scrunched in consternation.

The woman reached up, touching the man's face. "You must make him understand."

' _If Robert was not king, and a Targaryen is here with a northerner…then that means…'_ Arya struggled to remember the stories some had told of the war. Her father had never spoken of it but she knew it had started with a crown of blue roses and had ended by the head of a war hammer. ' _Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen,'_ she felt a pit in her stomach, as the revelation hit her like a sack of potatoes.

"Well done," a sudden voice echoed out from somewhere nearby, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Who's there?!" she screeched, then slipped as she attempted scrambling over a large root to break away, causing her to fall into the view of her aunt and the Mad King's son.

' _Clink!'_ the sounds of breaking glass followed her as she fell.

Arya winced, afraid of what it would mean to be caught by figures from the past. She remained curled on the ground, near the roots of the tree, eyes closed.

"Robert is not a man of words. He is a man of action. I doubt I could dissuade him," the man, who she believed to be Rhaegar Targaryen, continued speaking as if nothing had happened. She heard nothing but the sound of grinding glass, after the man spoke, and opened her eyes a wink. The former Prince and her aunt Lyanna seemed shattered, parts of them were replaced by darker pieces, looking into darker places.

' _Like a broken mirror.'_

Her aunt spoke, but the words were jumbled, and Arya could not make out what was being said. A triangular piece of the mirror flashed, replacing Rhaegar's exquisitely clothed arm and upper back with another. This one was of battle-worn armor that had seen some failed attempt at polishing. A simple black cloak with an embroidered Baratheon sigil, flowed downward, over the back of the armor.

' _Crack!'_ another piece flickered around her aunt's chest, exposing a uniform and color scheme she had long since grown accustomed to seeing.

' _A Fire Nation uniform!'_ she almost shouted. Its wearer stood against a large stained glass window, wearing a black cloak of its own with a high, gold-trimmed, red collar covering the neck. A golden, four-pronged flame rested at the center of the cloak, tapering upwards into a v-shape until finally hooking off at the shoulders.

She heard glass gnashing against itself until all was silent, and in the mess of broken pieces of different worlds and different people, she heard the words that she never wanted to hear anyone say to her. Or hear herself say to anyone else, coming from two of the voices she had heard before seeing the Targaryen Prince and her aunt.

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days," the man's words seemed sullen, lifeless, but they gradually raised with each utterance of the marriage vows, matching the woman's own.

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days."

Towards the end, both had been practically shouting at each other. _'They sounded like they were in pain…'_

"The change will be complete soon…we are running out of time," the mystery voice that had startled her had returned.

She turned back, and saw a man in modest black clothing, sitting in the grass, legs crossed, hands lowered, and hood drawn. "Who are you?"

The man reached up to the sides of his face and removed his dingy hood.

"Bran?!" the words left her mouth before she could think on them. He was considerably older than she had left him. "What? How?" she started, but stopped, not entirely certain where her train of thought was taking her with all of the strangeness it had just witnessed.

"Am I older?" he smiled sadly, with a face almost as old as Robb's, but as tired as her father's. "It's quite the tale, that we just do not have the time to discuss, Arya. All you need to know, is that I am your little brother from a less than pleasant time in our family's history…or your former future," he shrugged. "But everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. That woman and her people…their sudden appearance may have just granted our family a better future, or not." The man with the light stubble cradled his head in-between his roughish hands. "My memories," he grunted, "are quickly becoming useless. They are fading. All I have left is the knowledge to teach you, and I hope that is enough."

"What do you mean? What changed?" the man claiming to be her little brother looked past her.

She followed his gaze back to where the cracked mirror resided and found nothing. Everything was gone, everyone was gone. All that remained was the tree, and it started moving, bending into an otherworldly shape, its branches twisting like gnarled old fingers. A black growth grew at the center of the, now nearly blood-red, trunk.

' _Like a mother with child,'_ she realized, as she stared at the tree before it rippled back into normalcy.

"Everything. Everything changed…." the man's forehead was crinkled with worry when she turned back. "I saw you earlier. It was years ago for me, but only days for you. The duel between the she-wolf and the knight? Do you remember? That was when time changed, for me at least."

"I…" she tried remembering. His words had made no sense to her. She was only nine name days old, and this was almost too much for her young mind, but she was stubborn and clever.

 _"You move like a newborn babe, little brother of mine,"_ she heard that sly voice and a clash of training swords. Then she heard the gnashing of teeth, and the dead things, she shuddered.

"Wait!" she gasped at the sudden resurgence of memory. "You _were_ there!"

"Indeed I was," the man raised a brow in slight annoyance.

"If you say everything changed," she felt a frown on her face, along with furrowed brow. "Then," Arya looked at the man, "how did you know to call out to the Lady Azula when she was slain by that creature?"

He sighed, "My mind. My memories were incoherent flashes at the time before they started fading altogether. Bits and pieces of what I assume were _your_ little brother's memories mingling with my own. Those memories would have most certainly killed me, had I not withdrawn." The man paused, closing his eyes, then reopening them, only to reveal eyes white as milk. "That was why I could not bring _your_ Bran to this place, and why _your_ Bloodraven cannot see him now," he blinked once, then twice, until Arya found herself staring into Bran's normal blue eyes. "Whatever destiny had linked them is now little more than dust in the wind."

"So why are you doing this?" she curled her knees up to the chin and hugged her legs.

"You know the saying _'There must always be a Stark in Winterfell?'_ " elder Bran's face was straight with no hint of emotion lining his face.

"Of course," she scoffed, uncertain what the saying had to do with her question.

"Well, consider these my own personal words. _'There must always be a Stark greenseer.'_ " Bran looked at her then nodded. "Perhaps not as exciting as the first, but in time that saying will carry the weight of not just the north, but the world itself. Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" the question seemed quaint, and she watched as the man across from her seemed to mull it over in his mind.

"No," he answered flatly, rising to his feet and casting his rather large shadow over her.

"Fine then. How do we start?" she stood up not in anger or hesitation, but just in supremely cautious childish excitement.

"By throwing you off a cliff to see if you can fly…"

' _CAW!'_


	61. (King's Landing) Sansa IV

(King's Landing: 10/9/298) Sansa IV

She practically skipped down the lofty steps of the Hand's Tower, with Lady hot on her heels, and seemingly sharing in her elation at the new finery her father had commanded one of the servants to leave at the foot of her bed.

 _'What a wonderful gift!'_ she kept thinking, inspecting the flowing gown of white Yi-Tish silk with grey fur trim along the neckline and cuffs, fearful of it having been only a dream. The center area of the dress was deep black with a white wolf design embroidered across the top area that was nearly identical to the Stark sigil.

 _'Her family's sigil, but hopefully it'll be a stag soon,'_ she giggled, happily humming to no particular tune, during her descent.

A snow white lace ran in a crisscross pattern across her stomach and sat as a lovely bow knot along her midsection with the remaining thread trailing down just shy of the foot of the dress, dancing with her and Lady as they moved. The inner borders of the dress were black, with twirling golden patterns stitched along its length.

As she neared the final turn of the stairs, she slowed her steps, so as not to trip in her excitement. As before, Lady followed suit and ceased her excited bounding. Leading into the hall, where her father conducted his duties as hand, she spotted two towering Dragonstone guardsmen standing silently near the shut doors of her father's office clad in their full black plate and eerie skull masks, gauntleted hands resting tightly on their swords. A third man, smaller than the other two though still somewhat large, and clad in the same black armour, stood near them. Unlike the menacing duo, this man bore no helmet, presenting a somewhat handsome, clean-shaven face with rosy cheeks, bright smile, blue eyes, and a head of neatly cut pale blonde hair. The man's hands rested at his side, appearing like some hero staring off into the distance.

 _'Those two might not be nearly as tall as Ser Gregor, but they're still terrifying. And that man? What is he smiling at?'_

Lady halted in her steps, and Sansa could almost feel her hesitation. "Come, Lady. It is alright," she turned, kneeling down to scratch Lady behind the ear and scruff her neck. The smallest Dire wolf of them all, pawed at the floor, before letting out a low whine. Sansa locked eyes with Lady for a moment, a sense of calm washing over her. The wolf whined yet again before stepping forward.

Alongside the dark men and their smiling man, stood her father's far shorter guards, Jory, Alyn, and Harwin. The three Stark men appeared uneasy as they kept stealing glances towards the larger two of the three Dragonstone men, the ones who neither said, nor did anything out of the ordinary except remain unnaturally still. Several gold leafed benches lined the hall, interspersed with the odd torch stand or small hanging tapestry.

"Jory!" she exclaimed, gracefully walking up to the captain of her household guard, and catching a fruity sweet smell in the air.

The sight of the Flameguard within the tower had confused her. _'Has something happened to Bran?'_ she wondered, worried about her younger brother. _'Why else would Lord Stannis' men be here?'_

"My Lady Sansa," Jory gave a stiff bow as he kept his eyes on the skull-faced giants at his side. Alyn and Harwin followed quickly with bows, and queer looks of their own, to both the Flameguard and her wolf.

"Good afternoon, my lady," the smiling man bowed, his left fist placed across his chest. "Ser Justin Massey at your service," his blue eyes twinkled.

"A pleasure, good ser," she curtsied and gave her best smile, feeling some heat on her cheeks, before turning back to Jory.

"What has happened?" she asked Ser Rodrik's nephew.

"Your lord father is currently speaking with the Lady Azula, and is not to be disturbed," he answered, eyes still nervously looking at the black-clad men to his side.

Her mind went wild on what they could be discussing, and then she wondered when the Lady of Dragonstone had arrived. She moved to ask, but before she could, the captain seemed to have had picked up on the questioning look swimming in her eyes.

"The Lady of Dragonstone arrived several hours ago, at Lord Stark's summons, with a wooden box that your father had a servant take to your room."

"A box?" She questioned softly. "Was it this dress?" she looked down at her new clothing and felt odd, unsure of what a gift from Ser Steffon's mother, _'If it truly was from her,'_ entailed.

"I do not know, my Lady," he answered, studying the dress. "Your father was the only one who looked inside the box. He did thank the Lady of Dragonstone, for what it's worth. Though he did seem somewhat confused. Perhaps not what he was expecting?"

"Maybe. Do you know when he will be done?" she pouted, wishing to get to the bottom of who exactly had gifted her this stunning dress, before her planned walk with Joffrey in the godswood. _'Surely he would ask?'_ she wondered, looking down once more. _'Would he be pleased?'_

"Apologies, but I haven't the slightest, my lady," Jory seemed ashamed with his answer.

"It's quite alright, Jory," she waved him off, still somewhat off-put by how she would explain the dress to her prince if he asked. "I'm sure they will be done…"

 _'Click'_ the polished bronze door leading to her father's office unlocked, slowly opening to unleash a flood of that previously light fruity smell. The aroma drowned out the odor of the capital and drenched the hall in its nearly overpowering sweetness.

 _'Ack,'_ she coughed, her sense of smell surprised by the sudden onslaught.

 _'Fmmpt'_ Lady sneezed.

"Sansa," her father uttered, appearing from behind the door, a ghostly look graced his normally stoic grey eyes before vanishing. "Come in," he smiled that soft smile of his, and stood back, allowing enough room for her and Lady to enter.

"Good afternoon, father," she hugged him, reciprocating his smile with one of her own, feeling his almost crushing embrace enveloping her. He wore plain dark grey pants, with a light blue, almost grey leather doublet, and dusty black boots of Dragonstone make. Sansa looked over his shoulder and spotted the woman standing tall and proud, back facing her, at the edge of the room, near the small arched window looking out into the godswood of the Red Keep. _'Azula,'_ Sansa mouthed. Her father released her, and stared into her eyes for a moment, before giving an almost painful smile. He lingered a moment, then swept past her, heading towards the door.

 _'Click,'_ she heard it lock behind her, and saw as he withdrew to his seat behind the hand's gilded desk. Stray bits of parchment and leaflets of almost pure white paper, from Dragonstone, lay off to one side of his table while a quill and clear glass inkwell rested at the center, hiding his resting hands from view.

Keeping an eye on the woman, who's back remained turned, she inched forward, closing in on the center of the room. A shorter, though no less extravagant table, awaited her, resting alongside a golden bench with dark brown cushions and golden embroidery. The Lady of Dragonstone stood like a statue, hands at her back, with cleanly pressed clothing of her usual attire.

 _'She looks like Ursa.'_

A Direwolf banner hung at Lady Azula's side, wafting softly in the slight breeze coming through the open windows. The shadow cast by the woman's five-pointed flame headpiece almost seemed to give her family's sigil a set of stag-like prongs. _'I wonder if her closet has anything more, but multitudes of that, and that one dress from the feast?'_

As if sensing her thoughts, Lady Baratheon turned, bearing a razor-sharp smile on her lips, looking more like a lizard-lion than noblewoman. "Lady Sansa! What a surprise!" the Lady of Dragonstone exclaimed, walking up to her, arms open, accosting her before she could sit.

She heard Lady let out a low growl that the woman did not seem to hear. _'Calm,'_ she thought, feeling an inner sense of apprehension fade away. "My Lady Azula," a smile came to her lips, though not as genuine as she felt it should have been. _'Mother warned me to be cautious with her…'_

"My, my, you fit that dress nicely," Azula placed her hands on Sansa's shoulders.

 _'So it was from her?'_ "Thank you for the dress, my lady," Sansa stated a bit too quickly. Her azure pools looked up into ones of golden flame, and she shuddered, finding those eyes to be far more unnerving than those of Ursa.

"Oh, don't worry, it was nothing. I often wished my Ursa liked dresses as much as I did in my youth." The disquieting smile from before remained plastered across that beautiful Yi-Tish face as she examined her, top to bottom.

 _'Mmft,'_ Lady snorted, causing the Lady of Dragonstone to shoot an annoyed look in her direwolf's direction.

 _'So she does have more than those uniforms in her closets.'_ Sansa was uncertain, but for a fleeting moment, she could have sworn seeing a knowing gaze within those burning orbs.

"You grow more like your mother every day," her auburn hair made way for lithe fingers with perfectly manicured nails. "You will become a great beauty. Certainly more beautiful than me," she felt her skin crawl and heard Lady shake her head.

"You flatter me, my lady," she smiled falsely.

"Somehow, I don't think I do…I don't consider myself a great beauty," the golden-eyed woman whispered, before turning back to her father. "Don't you agree, Lord Stark?"

Her father held her eyes a moment, before finally smiling for a second time. "Of that, I hold no doubt."

"You see? We are in agreement," Azula faced her once more, and grinned, the light not reaching her eyes. She stepped back, "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa, but I have other matters to attend to. People to see, birds to catch," the woman muttered the last, adjusting the fur collar of Sansa's dress. "There we go. That was bothering me," she said. Turning on her heels, the Lady of Dragonstone faced the Warden of the North, "With your permission, my Lord Hand, I must take my leave."

"Of course," her father nodded.

"Thank you," the woman placed her hands at her side and bowed. The Lady Azula made almost no sound as she stalked towards the door.

She felt Lady's eyes following the small Yi-Tish woman all the way.

The Lady of Dragonstone jingled with the handle then snapped her fingers. "Almost forgot," she turned, looking past her. "My ship will be here in two days, Lord Stark. I trust your affairs here will be in order? If not, it would be a simple enough request to push back its arrival if needs be. I understand very well the pressures a position as important as Hand of the King can place on people."

 _'A Ship? For what purpose? To pick up Ser Steffon and Bran?'  
_

"Gratitude, but there is no need, my lady," her father reassured, a dark look crossing his eyes as he did so. "I will be ready."

"Very well," she answered, before finally unlocking the door and leaving as quietly and quickly as she remembered Ursa always did, shutting the door behind her.

She craned her neck and waited a moment, listening in as the woman's voice, and footfalls of her guards, finally subsided. After she felt confident the Lady Azula had gone, she quickly moved to find her seat and placed her hands across her lap. Lady moved to lay at her feet, and Sansa turned to face the Hand of the King. "Father?" she questioned, spying a grim face. His forehead was lined in numerous creases, and she knew that signalled something bad. Something worrying. _'What did the Lady Azula say to him?'_ Sansa wondered, as her wolf looked up at her, and whined softly at her side.

"Hmmm?" he replied, the chair creaking as he moved to readjust his hands over his desk. The Lord of Winterfell faced her with a smile that was not as warm as she had first seen when she had entered his study.

"Would it be improper for me to ask why the Lady of Dragonstone was here?" she hesitated, before finally asking.

"No, it would not," he replied softly, a hint of uncertainty in his ordinarily straightforward tone. He met her eyes, "She came to discuss our impending trip to Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Sansa questioned, the surprise readily evident in her voice. "Why are you going? For how long? Will I be going with you?" her words came out in a hurried jumbled, for she had not been expecting her father to leave his duties for any length of time. _'Let alone to visit that horrid place.'_ Screaming away at the back of her mind, a small part of her worried that he meant to take her away with him. _'Away from her handsome golden prince...'_ she felt her eyes begin to water.

"No, no," he calmed her, quickly rising from his plain bronze seat with velvet padding, to sit next to her. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she felt safe under its weight, even though she was horrified at the ill news he brought. "I will only be going to make certain it is a place fit for Bran, with my own two eyes, and only for a few days."

"And what will I do?" her voice quivered in uncertainty.

Her father stared at her, almost at a loss for words, before he let out a long sigh. "You will remain here in King's Landing with our household servants, and some of our guard…"

Sansa sighed, releasing the baited breath she did not realize she had been holding, but then saw that her father had not yet finished speaking his mind.

"…and will be placed under the protection of Lord Stannis Baratheon, at his manse in the noble's quarter. Near the old gate," he finished.

Her father's words felt like a cruel iron hammer beating down on her happiness, and she felt a strange sense of doubt wash over her. "But father, surely I can…" she sputtered, her mind conjuring up various reasons for remaining within the tower, but dying upon her tongue. _'This is unfair! I need to be near Joffrey. Lord Stannis scares me…'_

"I will have no further discussion on this matter," he warned in an icy cold voice. A voice she knew not to question. "Upon my departure, you and the remainder of our household will be escorted to Lord Stannis' manse, and kept there for your well-being until I return." A brief, yet deafening silence fell over them until she heard her father speak once more. "Worry not, Sansa. It will not be for long. I promise you, when I return, everything shall be as it should."

She heard a slight pause in his final words, but thought nothing of it, and sniffled. "I will do what is asked of me," she nodded, looking at him with wet eyes. ' _It was her! I know it!'_

Sansa felt his thumb slide across her face, wiping away a stray tear with a look of gratitude in his eyes. He lowered his hand and smiled, before rising from his seat. His dusty boots padded along the stone floor until he came to a small case near his large desk. She saw him crouch over the leathery black container, before snapping it open, revealing a bundle of red cloth tied up with a silken cord of black and gold. He lifted up the small thing with care, and looked at it a moment, before returning to sit by her side.

She tried hiding her confusion, as best she could, when he sat down and handed her the red package. "What is this?" Sansa looked at him, then down to the mysterious object, before she pulled at the soft cord.

"A gift from the Baratheons of Dragonstone," he stated, smiling a warm, yet strangely empty smile.

"For what?" the cord fell away, and she placed it atop the small table before her.

"For welcoming Ursa into our home, and treating her as family."

 _'Family? I don't even like her. She's strange…'_ a hint of jealousy seeped into her mind as she thought on the King's mannish niece. Pushing her feelings aside, she unwrapped the cloth covering and held something soft in her hands. "A doll?" she muttered in genuine surprise since she could not have imagined the parents of Ursa Baratheon to have thought of such a gift. _'No, not just a doll,'_ she examined the little thing which held not the form of a person, but of a wolf. _'Grey velvet for fur,'_ she ran her hand along its surface. _'Soft cotton stuffing,'_ she pressed her finger into its soft belly and turned it over to face her. _'Glossy, large yellow beads for eyes,_ and a _triangular black one for its nose...'_ it did not take long for her to realize whose likeness it bore. "It's Lady," she looked down and saw her loyal wolf staring up at her in curiosity, head tilted to the side.

"The Lady of Dragonstone said your gift was the most difficult to pick, so she chose that dress for you," he said, glancing towards the outfit she wore. "Before her son suggested something else…"

"Ser Steffon? This was from Ser Steffon?" she held the doll in her hands, and felt butterflies. _'No!'_ she chided herself and placed the small wolf atop the table. Chubby stuffed legs stuck out in front of its roundish pup-like face, and it looked to be calling to her to lift it up again. Lady followed the small replica and sniffed at its triangular bead nose. Her furred guardian stared at it, then gently snatched it up within her mouth, bringing it down in between her two front legs like some newborn pup. She stared at them both, before bringing her head down to nuzzle the doll protectively. Sadness filled her, but she was not sure why. "I don't care for dolls," she rolled her eyes, "but I will thank Ser Steffon when I see him."

"That is fair enough," her father sighed and gave her a saddened look.

 _'I want my Joffrey, not that smiling demon,'_ she told herself, remembering the black armour worn by the 'Silver-Tongue.' Righting herself and sitting as any proud lady would, she spoke, uttering her next words coldly. "Prince Joffrey and I were to take a midday walk within the Godswood. Am I still allowed to accompany him?" a part of her had sensed an uneasiness emanating from her father the moment she said the words, and somehow she knew his response would not be as before.

His body stiffened like her dire wolf did when she sensed danger, and for a long moment her father, the Lord of Winterfell, remained silent. He shifted in his seat, quiet as a mouse, eyes on her all the while. A deep frown lined his face before he spoke using his Lordly voice, "Jory and Harwin will accompany you."

"But…" her father looked at her. "It was supposed to be a romantic walk! He won't want me as his queen if I keep travelling under armed escort while I accompany him," she felt her temper rise and saw Lady's ears perk up.

"Sansa…" he warned, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"But why?" she fought the urge to stand up in a fit, knowing it was unladylike. "You let Bran be Ser Steffon's squire, and let Arya be friends with that stupid Dragonstone girl!" she pleaded in a last ditch effort to elicit the response she desired. "Am I not allowed to be close to someone other than my family? This is not fair!" she trailed off and lowered her head dejectedly.

"No. You will go with an escort or you will not go at all," her father's voice was colder than steel in a winter storm.

A long silence seemed to pass between them, disturbed only by the soft flapping of the direwolf banner near the window where the Lady of Dragonstone had once stood. Sansa shuddered, and looked away towards her father's orderly desk, having never seen her father grow truly angry with her. The Tempest, dark and grey, which had been swirling within her father's smoky eyes, dissipated like a spring shower. She nodded tersely in acceptance, realizing she would not get what she wanted. Her eyes stung as she forced out the words, "As you wish, father."

"Sansa…" he reached over in an attempt to soothe her, to no avail.

"Father, I wish to be excused," she stated simply, looking the Hand of the King in the eye. "I will await the summons from the prince in my room. If it pleases you?"

Her father sighed once more, before rising to his feet and offering her a hand. "My Lady?" An apologetic look and soft smile overtook every facet of his usually hard northern visage, but she would not accept it this time. She rose without taking his hand.

 _'He's ruining everything!'_

He escorted her out, knocking at the door twice, before finally opening it when Jory answered, "My lord?"

The bronze door groaned on its hinges as she walked through. Jory and Harwin were stationed near the door and quickly shuffled aside to allow her to pass. The Stark guard, Alyn, rose from the gold-leafed bench opposite the door. "Harwin," her father said, voice strong and commanding.

"Yes, my lord?" the stocky man with brown hair replied, stepping forward.

"Accompany my daughter to her room and await a summons from the Prince. It will be in regards to a walk in the Godswood. You and Jory are to remain with her while she is with him," Jory shifted at her side. "However, before _you_ do so, I must break words on another matter," he gestured towards Ser Rodrik's nephew and waved him into his office.

Sansa swore she had heard her father hesitate towards the middle of his words before his icy resolve took over at the end.

"Worry not, Jory will be along shortly," he reassured. Cassel nodded in acknowledgement and entered her father's study. The newest hand of the king lingered at the entryway, and for an instant, they stared at one another. A thoughtful frown had formed on her father's stony face before she turned and departed from the hall.

 _'Clang!'_ the bronze door shut behind her as she retreated to her room.

* * *

The shadows in her neatly furnished room began to grow long, she saw, watching as the legs of her carved wooden chair crawled along the floor like a spider's black spindly legs. A gilded Dragonstone mirror, free of stains or blemishes, sat against the wall. Easily the rival of even the finest mirrors from Myr, its crystal clear reflection displayed Sansa's seated form atop her cushioned 'spider' chair. Her Direwolf, Lady, remained perched at her side looking into the mirror and sharing the same thoughtful expression her father had shown earlier. The small wolf doll, gifted by Ser Steffon, rested between the wolf's closed legs.

* * *

 _"Good evening my Lady," she recalled the young knight's voice, smell, and smile, from the feast the King had thrown in his honor. The young stag from Dragonstone had unveiled a voice and brilliantly handsome grin she had felt a certain familiarity with, yet could not place. A youthful voice reverberated in her ears, one partially melodious and strangely deep, yet holding a peculiar sort of sweetness._

* * *

 _'It was welcoming, but reserved. Almost as if he bore a hidden burden,'_ frowning at the memory, a subtle warmness slowly crept up into her cheeks. The thought of the Baratheon boy's pleasant smell of ripened cherries and the tea the Silver-tongue's sister and her guards would always drink followed quickly thereafter. ' _What was it? Gasmin? Jasnim? The tea sent from Dragonstone every moon's turn,'_ she squinted, trying to remember. _'Father and Maester Luwin had taken a liking to it.'_ Sansa had easily recalled the subtly sweet smell, but not the name. Suddenly, a strange thought crossed her mind, _'What did Ursa smell like?'_ she briefly wondered, before she shook it off as stupid.

She fidgeted in her seat, nervously tugging at the hems of the Lady Azula's gift, before laying a tender hand atop her wolf's fuzzy head and scratching behind its ear. The nearly two-hour wait passed at a snail's pace and pressed a deep worry upon her, which slowly grew with every minute that came and went. _'Where he is? Did he forget? Is he still sad about his sister leaving this morning?'_ she vexed, remembering her time spent in the early morning hours when she, her father, the King and Queen, the Baratheons of Dragonstone present within the city, and Lord Renly, had seen the Princess Myrcella off, escorted by Sers Jaime and Loras. _'Father? Did you have a change of mind,'_ the unspoken question lingered before another one, a darker one, took its place. _'Or…did Joffrey?'_

"Stand aside," a gruff voice, partially muffled by the closed door, declared outside. "I am here to escort the Lady Sansa to Prince Joffrey."

Her heart lifted, and she rose from her cushioned seat, patting down the sides of her latest dress. The dark brown cushion bore golden tassels at its corners and was soft and pleasant. However, it did nothing to calm her nerves, for she was still upset that her planned romantic walk had been disrupted.

"Is that so?" she heard Harwin's voice, muffled by the oaken door, ask in a deep, wary sounding manner. "And what is your name, _ser_?"

"Ser Meryn Trant," the man grunted in annoyance.

"My lady Sansa," she heard Jory call out, the irritation readily evident in his voice, even from behind closed doors. A sharp knock followed the captain's address, " _Ser_ Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard is here to escort you to the Prince."

"I will be right there!" Sansa shouted excitedly, a slight flutter in her chest. She pressed down on her dress once more, before she motioned to her dearest companion, "Come, Lady." Her hands felt the coldness of the brass door handle, before pulling it open. There, she spied a Kingsguard knight with droopy eyes and a red beard. He bore a shirt of enamelled scales, tall helm with sunburst crest, and gleaming plate. A heavy woolen cloak lay upon his back, clasped with twin golden lions.

"My lady," the man bowed, his eyes showing no signs of warmth or welcome, only irritation.

She could almost feel the hairs on Lady's back standing on end as if they had been Sansa's own, and desperately wished to bare her teeth, only stopping herself when she realized what she had been thinking. A low rumbling, that only she could hear, reverberated within Lady's throat. Calmly, she motioned for Lady to relax and withdraw.

"Prince Joffrey awaits you by the Godswood," the man said, sneering towards Sansa's Direwolf. "Will you be bringing your dog with you, my lady?"

"She's not a dog, _ser_ ," she replied with a soft growl, and surprised everyone around her, herself included. _'Where had that come from?'_ she paused, her train of thought having taken a sharp turn before she remembered the man before her. "Her name is Lady, _Ser_ Meryn, and yes, she will be accompanying me. As will they," a quick glance to Jory and Harwin signalled to the knight who she meant. "Now, if you please?" Sansa continued, stepping forward, past the rude knight. She heard someone close the door to her quarters, and heard three pairs of footsteps follow after her, while a smaller, quieter set of four followed beside her.

* * *

The path out into the courtyard had been relatively uneventful, with only the odd glance or two from her household guard and the trio of Lannister red cloaks stationed near the base of the tower, just outside of the main doors. Extending out across the stone square was the long shadow of the Hand's tower, cast by the receding midday sun. As she trailed behind Ser Meryn, she felt keenly aware of her surroundings, even though she had not once ever gone hunting or even fishing.

 _'That was unladylike,'_ she reasoned, _'and beneath her.'_

Still, her eyes, ears, and nose stretched out, past the swaying Baratheon banners, rancid city smell, bird calls, and background chatter. She spotted, smelled, and heard the five men near the eastern wall of the yard, along with all the others in between. Servants, guards, all held smells of their own, and Sansa shook her head, trying to dispel that strange feeling. That sudden, clear awareness which assaulted her senses. Three of the men smelled of cherry blossom and were suited in full Dragonstone plate that was black as night. They spoke quietly with a set of Stormlander knights in similarly fashioned armour though in decidedly much lighter colouring, and bearing a slightly softer cherry and tea smell, similar to Ser Steffon's.

"What of Ser Cortnay?" she heard one of the Stormlanders mutter. "He's as loyal as they come and will not appreciate this."

"The lady of Dragonstone as made assurances to Lord Renly that the appointment is only temporary. A moon's turn at most. Penrose will be kept on to advise Ser Steffon for the short time he manages the castle, before setting out for another tour," the Dragonstone man with the trimmed black beard and strong jaw replied.

"Any clue on where the young Stag will go?" a copper-haired Stormlander asked.

"Likely the Vale," the bearded man shrugged, his raspy voice sounding like scraping glass. "Ser Steffon and the Lady Azula have spoken at length about their mutual interest in learning about the lords that reside there. If he goes, I imagine he'll take an Ironship, make port at Gulltown, and start from there."

Loose pebbles clicked along the path, diverting her attention away from the chattering men and drawing them towards several child servants, as they scurried to and fro scrubbing the stones clean of filth, with one lingering near the group of men. As Sansa and her escort passed, she brushed her nose and sniffed at the air, catching the scent of lavender and lilac emanating from beneath the children's grimy, oily, exteriors.

"Out of the way, child," she heard Ser Meryn growl at a small, green-eyed boy who had stumbled along their route. Emerald eyes grew wide in terror, and the boy quickly scampered off. A feeling of unease grew within her stomach as if she knew the knight had had every intention of kicking the small boy but had only just managed to restrain himself.

A woman clothed in a simple dark brown dress with black lacing, and nearing her mother's age, watered the small collection of flowers nestled in-between the arches of the covered walkway. In spite of the distance between them, Sansa heard the woman humming a strange tune she had only ever heard the girl, Jun, hum. Sansa mentally kicked herself, regretting having never deigned to ask the small foreign girl on its origin.

She caught a scent of mint in the air before her attention came upon a duo of youthful noblewomen gossiping underneath the shade of the walkway, and likely headed for some prior engagement, she assumed. Both were followed by the Queen's rosy scent, though the minty smell seemed to have also travelled along with them. Others would have found the women's features shrouded in shadow, yet Sansa blinked and saw their oddly gray faces in the gloom. One held straight light locks, while the other brandished curly dark trusses.

"The boy was handsome, but his mother was strange," the woman with yellow hair tittered, putting her thumbs up to the edges of her eyelids and slanting them upwards.

"Tabitha! Oh my goodness," black curls swayed as the woman brought her rose scented cloth to her mouth, stifling a scandalous snicker. "After we speak with the Queen, perhaps we should pay the Godswood a visit?" the lady lifted a knowing brow to her companion before Sansa and her group rounded the corner.

 _'There he is!'_ her heart skipped a beat, as she turned forward, spotting her betrothed waiting for her at the gates of the Godswood.

Ser Meryn clanked loudly as he stomped about, leading them to the gates. With every step she took, she felt more and more knots form in the pit of her stomach.

 _'Ser Mandon Moore,'_ Sansa recalled the Kingsguard's name, and his unsettling pale grey eyes, as he stood at her Prince's side accompanied by four Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks and full plate. The red cloaks smelled of the Queen, yet the lifeless-eyed man bore no scent. Though not as outwardly impressive as their Dragonstone or Kingsguard counterparts, the Lannister armour was still finely made and not at all inexpensive looking.

"My prince," Ser Meryn bowed, "the lady Sansa and her household guards, Jory Cassel, and Harwin." The knight gestured to them, the sneer having never left his face. A brief frown marred the prince's handsome appearance, disappearing just as quickly, as he eyed Jory, Harwin, and Lady.

"A pleasure to meet the noble guards of my Lady Sansa," her prince stated courteously, revealing a pearly white smile.

Sansa felt Lady on the verge of restlessness and quickly titled her hand in a placating gesture. _'Lady! Be still. Please!'_ she pleaded silently. _'Joffrey and I haven't had much time to speak with one another since leaving Winterfell. I don't want to lose this chance as well.'_ Almost on the verge of tears, Sansa sighed in relief as Lady grew docile once more. _'Thank you,'_ she cast a grateful smile to her furry friend, the oddness of the act having been lost on her.

Joffrey's golden curls rustled slightly in the breeze, and his clean royal attire of blue hues and black leather boots, made the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms appear ever so gallant. A deep blue doublet, studded with golden lions, completed the look, and Sansa was mesmerized. "My lady," he stepped forward, turning to her, and offering his arm, which she gladly accepted. "I believe we have a walk in the Godswood?"

"We do, my prince," she tried her best to contain the giggle she knew was coming and failed. Brushing her embarrassment aside, she followed the Prince as he led her into the wood. They passed through the gates Sers Meryn and Mandon had opened, both of whom had followed, Lannister red cloaks in tow, along with Lady and Sansa's own Stark guard.

* * *

As they walked down the shaded cobblestone path, she could scarcely believe her good fortune as the rays of the sun peeked out through the canopy above, leaves rustling in the breeze. Their escort clanked about several paces away giving her and her prince some small measure of privacy, though Lady remained at her side.

"You look lovely, my lady," Joffrey said with a smile, deep green eyes looking into her own. He held his hands behind his back as they walked, reminding her of the Lady of Dragonstone. She quietly matched Joffrey's strides with her own as the butterflies in her belly threatened to explode out of her body.

"You flatter me, my prince," she replied, nodding her head, cheeks flush with excitement, fear, happiness, joy, and every other emotion she could imagine.

"That was not flattery, my lady. It was a compliment," he grinned. "Flattery is insincere. A compliment is offered with earnestness. And you do look lovely," Joffrey stated calmly before his brow furled into one of suspicion. He squinted his emerald eyes, scanning up and down the face of her dress. "Though I wonder," he stopped, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "Where did you acquire your dress? It does not seem like something from the north. Did your Lord father have it made for you here in the capital?"

She winced, weighing her responses in her head before she spoke the only words she could. "They were a gift from the Lady of Dragonstone." Her eyes skimmed over his handsome feature seeing what reaction such a revelation would cause and found herself surprised.

Joffrey pursed his lips for an instant before smiling. "I'm quite surprised. I would never have imagined the Butcher of Shipbreaker to have had such excellent taste," he lowered his hand from her shoulder and continued walking, outwardly pleased with his words.

 _'The Butcher of Shipbreaker,'_ she pondered the derogatory title the Lady Azula's enemies had granted her during the rebellion. A title Sansa and her mother had held a small belief in, a belief Arya and her father had not seemed to share. _'She seems the type. Strange and dangerous,'_ Sansa recalled of Ser Steffon's mother and the peculiar unease she would feel when around Azula. Such disquieting things had coloured Sansa's perception of the foreign noblewoman, and as Joffrey said his words, she wondered whether he had thought the same as she or as her father.

 _'Snfft,'_ Lady snorted, drawing Sansa's attention.

Her wolf had continued at a steady pace beside her, head pointed downward, sniffing at a single dry leaf on the cobblestone path. Having given no indication of something being amiss Sansa shrugged and followed suit beneath the rustling leaves.

"The Lady Azula," Joffrey stated suddenly, pausing in his words before continuing his line of thought. "What do you think of her and my Uncle's family?" Her prince had not stopped their walk and pressed on upon their path.

"I…I would not presume to…" she hesitated, not knowing whether speaking of them would be proper to anyone outside her family.

"Worry not, my lady," he reassured her with a devilishly handsome smile. "When you are with me, you have nothing to fear. I promise you, no harm will come to you for speaking your mind."

His words had almost sounded like Ser Steffon's, and Sansa blushed. Looking back to her entourage and then to her betrothed, she nodded. "The Lady Azula is…odd. Like her daughter, Ursa, and both have mannish tendencies in how they carry themselves. Ursa, moreso than her mother, but…they don't act like a proper lady should." Joffrey's emerald eyes looked intrigued at her words, as he drank them up like a man trapped in an open desert. "They know the words, display the manners, but…when you sit across from them, when you speak to them, they feel wrong. _'And,'_ Sansa thought to herself, _'seem to be much more than they appear.'_

"Hmmm," her prince raised his left hand to his chin, apparently thinking upon her words, as they walked. "Wrong, how?" Joffrey questioned.

"I cannot tell you, my prince," she replied, catching his sudden surprise at her statement before she continued. "It's only feeling, something I cannot understand, but it's there. That odd feeling when I am near them is not something that can be put into words."

"I see," he narrowed his eyes slightly, though not unpleasantly so. "Well, I leave it to your judgement, my lady. I have no experience on the minds of women," he chuckled, stopping and looking down the forked path they had reached in the wood. One turned off to the side, disappearing beneath thick brush, and another down some stone steps leading to an open area, where she alone heard the dull sounds of wooden swords clashing against each other. "So what of my uncle and his son?" Joffrey asked, guiding her towards the stone steps, seemingly unaware of the sounds emanating therein.

She froze, her senses having warned of someone, or something, coming down along the chosen path. Lady bounded down the steps and turned down the stone pathway, disappearing from view. "Lady!"

"Summer, come back!" she heard a familiar voice on the wind.

 _'Bran!'_

"What is it, my lady?"

"It is my brother, Bran. He is in the clearing," she answered, pointing ahead, and walking forward, turning around the collection of brush obscuring her view of the small clearing partially beneath the shadow of the Red Keep. There, she saw Summer and Lady playing, nipping at each other, while the small figure of Bran stood further away next to the slim, lightly armoured form of Theon Greyjoy, both of whom bore wooden swords in hand.

"Sansa!" she heard Bran shout, as he waved his hands and ran towards her. Sansa heard the hurried footfalls of Joffrey, and their guards coming up behind her. Keeping her gaze on Bran as he bolted past the playing Direwolves, she noticed at the corner of her eye, a duo of fully-plated Flameguard hoisting up tower shields emblazoned with the burning stag in their right hand, while their left hands rested upon the hilts of sheathed longswords, both stood near a small path going into the woods behind the area the Dragonstone Greyjoy and Bran had been sparring. She could hear four pairs of feet walking along the cobblestone past the armoured men, one distinctly lighter than the other two, yet only three voices came from the opening within the trees lining the minor trail. One was familiar and silvery-sweet, the other was harsh and foreign though decidedly female in tone, and the last was clearly male, sounding heavy and slightly slurred.

As Bran grew closer, so too did Joffrey and their retinue.

"Prince Joffrey! Jory! Harwin! Greetings!" Bran smiled, bowing slightly in respect to Joffrey at the utterance of his name and title. Taking her eyes off of the armoured men, and placing them on Theon Greyjoy had seen him slowly jogging up towards them.

"Bran!" Harwin and Jory exclaimed, the surprise readily evident in their voices, smiles plastered on their faces. "We had wondered where you had gotten off to this morning when we returned from seeing the Princess Myrcella off."

"Ser Steffon asked father a day past if we could go travelling around the city to practice on knightly conduct. Helping the poor, learning about their lives," Bran smiled. "He really enjoys learning about people. Ser Theon came to the tower and escorted me to Dragonstone manor, where we awaited Ser Steffon," he answered as eagerly as any youth with aspirations for knighthood would. "After our time in the city, we came here to spar. The Silver-tongue was about to teach me the strange sword techniques he learned at the Academy, where I will be attending when I arrive on Dragonstone."

"And where is my dear cousin?" her future royal husband scanned about the clearing with eyes like a hawk.

"Where indeed?" Jory questioned, his eyes darting between Ser Theon, who was now only several paces away, and her thrilled little brother.

"He is speaking with one of his household servants, a woman in red, Phena and her son, Adar, who is Rickon's age, and a knight…ummm…Ser Dontos? I believe."

"What is the subject of their discussion?" her golden-haired prince leaned in.

"My prince!" Ser Theon exclaimed, partially startling her prince, and taking a bow as Bran had done before him. "What a pleasant surprise," he continued, with a bright smile and cocksure swagger. "Here to take part in our sparring? Ser Brandon to be has learned the basic tenants of knighthood quite quickly. I dare say he'll be a greater knight than even Ser Barristan. Certainly, one to watch out for when an opening forms in your future Kingsguard," Ser Theon looked down and scruffed the top of Bran's head, causing her little brother's large smile to grow even larger.

Joffrey's lips grew thin, before a sharp smirk formed upon his face. "Perhaps, but I will be the judge of that when the time comes. There may not be many openings, especially since I intend to make my cousin Lord Commander should he remain without wife or issue when I ascend the throne, and possibly even a few more knights from Dragonstone given the reputation of the warriors raised and bred there…"

Ser Theon and Bran held their smiles, until Ser Mandon pointed out, past them, across the small glade. "Look, my prince. It is Ser Steffon."

Out from the wooded opening with the small path had emerged the handsome young Baratheon knight, Ser Steffon. He was clothed in a deep black and gold brocade doublet, pressed crimson trousers, and black boots reaching to his knees, with a golden-hilted Dragonstone-steel sheathed at his side. The pattern near the base of the tunic's neck took on the shape of a stag's antlers, and near his heart was a small golden rose pin. Accompanying the Silver-tongue out of the brush was a portly man in a suit of ramshackle armour with a reddish nose, a comely pale woman with shoulder-length auburn hair covering the right side of her face, and a small slightly less pale boy with shaggy black hair. Both the boy and woman held passable clothing, the woman wore a crimson sleeveless dress, a ruby choker, and black slippers and cloak, while the boy wore simple black trousers with a brown tunic and little black boots. A silver necklace hung down the boy's neck with whatever pendant, or jewel, hidden just out of view, underneath his tunic.

"I wouldn't worry about your paymaster, Ser Dontos," she heard a smooth voice drift along the midday breeze. "That reaching little lord has bigger things to worry about from my mother should things go south. But enough about him," she saw Ser Steffon's head turn in their direction. "You all have your duties to perform," the knight looked down, and knelt by the small boy, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Especially you, little one. You have the most important task of all, can I trust you to do what is asked?" Azula's son reached into his satchel and withdrew a small sweet-smelling piece of what appeared to be dried fruit.

The boy remained silent, almost as if he had been incapable of speech, and yet shook his head as enthusiastically as Bran had when her father had broached the subject of being Ser Steffon's squire. Both Lady and Summer had ceased their playing and returned to her and Bran's sides.

"Now, I must take my leave, the Prince seems to be awaiting my presence," Steffon Baratheon rose from his kneeling position and brought the woman's hand forward, placing a gentle kiss upon her hand. He then nodded to the rotund man, before turning on his heels and walking briskly in their direction. The silent Flameguard shadowed him closely, matching his pace with raised tower shields and sheathed swords. The odd trio quietly slunk back into the small path from which they had come.

Joffrey frowned and started forward and they all followed.

"Hail! Prince Joffrey!" the heir to Dragonstone declared, coming upon them, and bowing as a proper knight should before royalty.

"Good afternoon, cousin, what brings you here this day?" the Prince asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice.

"Showing young Bran how to be a knight. He is…" Steffon started.

"Yes, I've heard this before," Joffrey cut in, sharing a look with her, then glancing towards Bran and Ser Theon, who had both begun walking back to Ser Steffon's side. "And what of the three who you saw fit not to introduce me to?"

"Urgent business," the knight smiled. "A secret my mother would not wish to be known."

"And what conspiracies have you and the Butcher gotten yourselves into, cousin?" the prince retorted, clasping his hands behind straightened back, chin up, frown firmly in place.

The insult to his mother ignored, Ser Steffon continued smiling and did not blink nor reveal personal injury to the word. "Very well, my prince. It is a terrible crime to lie to royalty," the son of Dragonstone took in a deep breath. "My mother's nameday will be coming soon, and I was hoping to surprise her with a small feast at the manor. Nothing grand, given our imminent departure, but something is better than nothing," he rested his hand along his belt and continued. "So, I enlisted the aid of the head of the Dragonstone household servants in the capital and her son, to make ready the manor, while Ser Dontos requests nothing short of the finest wine from his benefactor. My mother doesn't enjoy such a thing being public knowledge, but I do enjoy teasing her about it."

 _'What?'_ she blinked, as did they all, save for Ser Theon, Bran, and Ser Steffon who held large toothy grins.


	62. (Planky Town) Asha V

Asha V courtesy of Sensfan90. Thank you for your contribution ! =)

(Planky Town: 298 AC) Asha V (by Sensfan90)

The poor condition of the room said it all really. A faded orange carpet over old weathered stone lit by a pair of candles and moonlight. The furniture was just as unimpressive; featuring a splintered old table, ink, parchment and a pair of simple wooden chairs. Dust and cobwebs filled the crevices around her, the floor long since cracked and uneven from years of neglect. Even the exterior was depressing, that of a poor broken holdfast from the days of King Daeron. It had never been truly restored after the breaking of Planky Town. Really if one were to look for the Princess of House Martell it was the last place anyone would think of.

She sat across from her in a long simple grey dress, only a pair of golden bracelets around her wrists suggested she was anything but a normal young woman. Whatever had caused Arianne to setup this meeting had shook her to the core. Not a word had been spoken as she arrived, simply a motion to sit across from her. Even the wine she offered was quite watered down, far more conservative than her usual taste.

"A bit dreary don't you think? You used to take me to much nicer places." The Princess failed to take the bait as she tried to lighten the mood. Not even meeting her eyes, the Princess of Dorne turned to the small pile of parchment and began to carefully leaf though them before offering a trio of pages. Taking them without comment she moved closer to the candlelight. Roaming over the words, it became clear it contained the handwritten notes of her companion. Ideas and information covered the page in frantic bits of inks and blots. The Princess had desperately worked to remember as much information as possible. Most of it appeared as insane ramblings of mouthy attendants, but two words never stopped appearing.

 **Griff and Stag.**  
She knew the word Griff from somewhere, yet for the life of her she could not remember where. Before she even had time to wonder why the name bugged her so, the Princess began speaking. "We are out of time Asha; my father has quietly begun marshaling Dornish forces."

"I find that hard to believe, one does not simply call the banners without the rest of Westeros knowing." Running her fingers through her long dark hair, the Princess breathed a long sigh.

"Father has sent riders requesting that every Dornish house take a census in preparation for a possible winter. House Martell does this annually by raven, by sending a rider it is code for making material preparations. Even if I thought I was mistaken, there is no question it all started after the arrival of a sellsword by the name of Griff. From the moment my father greeted him in his solar, he changed."

Her mood sharpened at the news, Doran Martell was probably the most conservative man in Westeros. "Sellsword? He is marshaling an army now of all times? Why? For decades he did nothing after the sack!"

Arianne leaned forward in her chair and raised her left arm, slamming her fist on the table. The clang of her golden bracelet echoing throughout the room. Now that they were so close, the dark circles on her eyes became visible under the light from the flame. "I know! My uncle always preached about vengeance for my aunt, yet my father talked him down at every turn. Now he speaks with sellswords, and ones that fill him with such trepidation? Madness!"

"When did this happen? I barely left port more than a month ago from our last meeting."

The Princess breathed softly as she regained her composure. Leaning back in the chair she focused once more,"Yes, father was quite impressed with your work. He gave you a bounty did he not? On the other side of Dorne?"

"Bounty implies a crime, he wanted a boy dead. It was rather boring actually."

 _Drinking her wine, she lounged on the deck as her crew finally returned and dumped the shackled prize upon the planks of the ship. Donnel Drumm and Tristofer Botley kept firm hands on his shoulders while Jane Shepard strutted up to her side. Clad in a scandalous orange dress on loan from Sunspear the target had taken the bait. Judging by the shit eating grin on her fellow sailor the slip in the drink had worked perfectly._

 _Truly the night had gone wonderfully, with soothing waters of Torrentine making for lovely ambiance to her evening meal. The river was strong and fast as it approached the Summer Sea, and it had functioned as the source of House Dayne's power since the time of the First Men. It also happened to be a delightful spot for dumping a body. It was an amusing sight, a roguish man with single streak of black in his flowing blond hair, his face a picture of hatred. She remained silent as he glared at her with his harsh violet eyes. She would have enjoyed him once upon a time. However, his stupidity has soured any further interest on her part. Motioning the rest of her crew to take the deck she kicked the man hard enough to bring to his knees._

 _"Evil bitch! I should have known an Ironborn would have been the one to use such a dishonorable tactic." Sensing his rage, she continued to enjoy her Dornish Red as he became ever more incensed at her lack of reaction. Access to the private stocks of House Martell was proving to be rather delicious upside to her alliance. The fact this particular vintage came from High Hermitage somehow made it even sweeter. "Come now Squid, answer me! Better yet prove you have some worth other than as filthy pirate by fighting me now. No drugs, only skill!"_

 _"Yes, because the Dornish are known for their deep commitment to the honorable conduct of war. If I had known all it took was a glance at Sheperd's tits to distract you from your drink, I would have done this in broad daylight. Aren't nobleman supposed to be paragons of virtue? On second thought don't answer, I don't care. Wynch be a dear and grab the rest of the bottle, will you?" Tilting her cup back and forth like some pampered greenlander it caused the man to glower even harder in her direction. As Wynch returned and began to fill her cup he finally seemed to accept his fate and asked the obvious question._

 _"Why are you here?"_

 _"Money dear boy, for your head. Though given how easy this was I may take in the sights."_

 _"House Dayne will not let my death be ignored. They will find you!"_

 _"A smug noble prick goes after a pretty girl and is never heard from again. Really Darkstar, the honeytrap is almost as old as banditry itself. Besides don't you want to know why you are going to die tonight?"_

 _"Someone in Dorne wants me dead and they hired a foreigner. Who was it, Yronwood, Spottswood, Tor, Sunspear?"_

 _"Somehow the fact you have list does not surprise me. Evidently a rather nice fellow does not want you skulking around his land anymore. Botley finish him and dump the body." The pathetic man barely had time to scream before the cold steel of Botley's blade slit his throat. Without prompting the hulking arms of Donnel Drumm tossed the dying man overboard, the river doing the rest._

 _"Good work everyone, the evening is yours. We sail in the morning." If only all her jobs were this easy._

"So, the prick Gerold Dayne was just a distraction for you father to keep me away from the Narrow Sea while he discussed plans with his other _friends_ " She bit her tongue before she said something she would regret. She had gotten far too comfortable and been played like some green boy in his first battle.

"Dayne was given a direct order by my father and ignored it. Whatever words were spoken, the level of seriousness was enough that he could not be allowed to live. Still his temporary removal of you is irksome to our plans. Worst of all, I can find no fault in his logic. Sellswords and a Greyjoy in Sunspear? War. plain and simple."

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips at the remark, "Yes, even my uncle Victorian could have made that connection. Still why now of all times? What could cause your father of all people to make such a move?"

"I know he had some sort of prior relationship with this man Griff. Enough that he personally summoned younger guards for the meeting after he entered. Which suggests he is Westerosi, and a noble one at that. I suspect a loyalist to the Targaryens. Such individuals were legion when I was young, especially as the Tyrells looked inward in defeat." A sound argument, but not a particularly helpful one. Despite what most remember, only the North and Westerlands worked in complete unison against the Red Dragon. Her own families contribution a glorified pirate raid. Even decades later it would not be difficult to find those who still favored the reign of the Targaryens in most of Westeros.

"Yet your father did nothing then. Perhaps the dragon lovers sensed what we have? Plans for war from the two Stags? It is not as if the Targaryen cause is lost, we know the girl Ivory is coveted by many."

"Or perhaps Griff hopes to convince him from following the Baratheons at all. Nymeria has written from Crackclaw Point, she has been treated extremely well. Far more than a petty lord and a bastard should expect. As much as my cousin enjoys being treated like a Princess, she is intelligent enough to know she is not." Taken a sip of the wine, she let the cool liquid calm her as it traveled through her body. The web of intrigue was large, she knew that. They had come too far to make a mistake now in haste.

"It is not as if we did not conclude the potential marriage to be a bribe from Azula towards Dorne. A match the Firelord could end with little fanfare. No offence to your cousin, but a lordship for a bastard daughter is not enough of a boon to convince you father to give the loyalty of an entire kingdom. It is however more than enough to give pretext to a deeper partnership."

"Of course, however I know enough from Tyene and Obara that my Uncle Oberyn has been speaking extensively with the Firelord since he arrived in King's Landing. Enough that he has requested a personal tour of Dragonstone alongside the new Hand of the King. There are other things as well which raise even more questions. Merchants and tradesman have been inquiring over my affairs for some time now. My tastes in food, clothing and other mundane facts about my life. It was only when this Griff arrived and that I heard whispers from a few of the looser lipped guards that I understood. He came with an offer, one he believed to be greater than my father had already received."

"Greater offer? Arianne, what is it?" Arianne turned harshly to the lone window and quietly she stared deeply at the moon for a few moments as she gathered her thoughts. Whatever information had placed her in such a mood had come to the fore. Finally, she turned back towards her, the suspicion in her voice palpable.

"I suspect Azula Baratheon has broached the subject of a potential marriage between Steffon Baratheon and myself." She nearly choked as the Princess finished. The idea was simple but immensely frightening, one did not simply ask such a thing without political fallout.

"Fuck the bloody Drowned God. Do you have any proof beyond hearsay and conjecture? Princess, I simply cannot fathom why your father all people would make such a bold move. It seems so sudden, so disruptive."

Arianne frowned as she finished, a look of confusion on her face. "He will be my lesser Asha, and it does tie Dorne back into the royal family, if once removed. He is of high enough birth to be acceptable in eyes of our senior lords. His actions in the Stepstones alone would placate some of our more eastern houses. You believe it will be scandalous?" Jumping to her feet she resisted the urge to scream in frustration. Harshly she gripped the table, the old wood cracked under her fingers. Hesitating she took a deep breath, Arianne did not deserve to have the bloody thing flipped in frustration. Removing her hands, she dusted the small flecks of withered timber in a vain attempt to regain her composure. The Princess tilted her head in understanding, clearly having shared the frustration.

"Symbolism Princess, it all comes down to how this looks. Azula Baratheon, _the Firelord_ , has never truly made it a secret she considers herself the Queen of her people. An engagement of you to her son, a scant few months after Joffrey Baratheon is betrothed to Sansa Stark, is no coincidence. She is telling Westeros that Steffon Baratheon is just as deserving of royal wife as the Crown Prince. Stark, Arryn, Lannister, Baratheon and Martell, there can be no greater bloodlines in Westeros. A brilliant counterstrike without actually giving the Iron Throne offence. Even the mere rumor of such a thing will cause issues." Taking the goblet from the table, she briskly brought it to her lips. Downing more wine, the aggravation of it all refuse to be washed away. The winds of intrigue had shifted and her mind proved unable to ignore it.

"And perhaps it is but a rumor. However, I know it spooked this man Griff on towards setting a meeting with the Prince of Dorne. The fact my father allowed me to attend his arrival but not the meeting itself was all the more telling." She nodded, the reasoning behind such a move was rather simple.

"He wanted you to know about it, but he did not trust you enough to keep the details secret." Barking out a harsh laugh she realized Prince Doran was quite right to do so. "Given we are speaking about whatever this Griff entertained your father with…"She stilled as the name Griff finally clicked, why the word bugged her so. The missing ships, the changing of the guard, the Targaryen connection, even the reason for the subterfuge.

Arianne noticed her mood immediately rose from her chair. The moonlight shining brilliantly over her dark locks as curiosity lingered in her eyes. "Asha, what is it?"

"Griff, Griffen, Griffin…. it's fucking Jon Connington!" The Princess blinked owlishly as she too realized the man's identity. Suddenly the secrecy made considerably more sense to both of them. "The former Hand of the King, and perhaps Rhaegar Targaryen's most faithful supporter. He supposedly died a broken man in Essos. Now he arrives as the champion of some unseen mercenary force? There can be only one purpose, a Targaryen restoration."

"Clearly, but at what cost? If the Iron Throne get's even a whisper of the hired blades sailing from Essos, the Iron Ships of Dragonstone will set the waters aflame. It would do more for securing Baratheon rule then the humbling of the Ironborn. We are missing something, something important to give my father pause. If Griff is in fact Jon Connington, what could he have learned now that would force him to confront my father?" Arianne walked towards her as she finished speaking, the look of uncertainty clear in her eyes as she answered her.

"Timing, the only thing that makes sense is timing. Whatever Azula Baratheon, the _Firelord_ plans to show House Stark within Dragonstone must be priceless. Something to give your father and uncle pause to consider beyond revenge. Or at the very least attractive enough to make the offer of marriage all but assured in their eyes. Whomever the Griffin is working with could not risk remaining in the shadows." The Princess said nothing but offered her arm as she finished speaking, the unspoken order to follow her out plain as the light from the moon. Leaving a half empty cup of wine on the table she let the Princess lead them into the hallway. With nothing but the crackling of torchlight to stave off the silence she wondered what Arianne was thinking. Before she could ask, the Princess stopped at a small window overlooking the Shadow City. Feeling the grip of the Dornishwoman tighten she turned to look at her one last time.

"Father would not have sent Uncle Oberyn to King's Landing without purpose. Whether the plan was always to sail to Dragonstone ...I cannot say. Regardless I fear our ability to chart our future in this conflict will soon be taken. Do not leave Sunspear until I know what my father plans. But you and I both know there is no stopping it now."

Feeling the cold desert wind wash over her, she did know. "War."


	63. (King's Landing) Ned V

(King's Landing: 10/9/298) Ned V

"Worry not, Jory will be along shortly," Eddard reassured his eldest daughter. Cassel nodded in acknowledgement and moved to enter his study. He lingered at the entryway for an instant and they stared at one another, father and daughter. He frowned, worried what the coming days would bring them all. _'You are all important to me, never forget that.'_

 _'Clang!'_ he shut the door behind Sansa after she had turned her back to him and walked away.

His hand remained on the cold door, listening as Sansa's footsteps receded. "Jory?" he stated, turning to face the captain of his guard, who stood straight, left-hand resting on the pommel of his sword, while the other hung freely at his side. "You will keep her safe, while I am away?"

Jory's eyes focused, and he replied with a steadfastness that reminded him of Rodrik. "Without fail, my lord."

"Hmmm," Ned gave a quick nod of appreciation.

"Though if you don't mind my asking, Lord Stark," the captain hesitated a moment, then continued. "Why does Dragonstone warrant your attention so? Why the secrecy?"

"King Robert's bastards are my business, and mine alone. That should be enough for you, Jory," he stated simply, not wanting to speak more on the subject. He held faith in the man to keep his word and not press the issue while doing everything he could keep his family safe.

"Of course, my lord. Forgive me for prying."

"No, it is quite alright. Harsh as my words may seem, rest assured that my business there is of the utmost importance. Even so, I wish you to understand that if I find what I am searching for…" he wavered, sharing a look with Jory. "Then there is a chance that it will become dangerous here in the capital while I am away. Sansa's safety should be your priority, so do not bother yourself with the matters of Dragonstone. I need you focused on the task at hand, here in the capital."

"As you say," he replied, his body had grown rigid and alert.

Eddard strode to his desk and combed through the collection of Dragonstone papers lining the wooden dividers under the table. His hand caught on the two papers he was looking for, one addressed to Lord Stannis, and the other to his beloved Cat and eldest son Robb, both bearing his unbroken seal, and folded in three parts. "When I depart, I will only take a dozen men with me, Harwin included. You will remain behind with the rest of my household and room within Dragonstone manor. Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula have already given leave for us to do so."

"That," Jory paused, though he did not seem to hold a look of apprehension or surprise, only one confusion. "Will we all fit within? We number near eighty."

"Quarters will be tight, but you will all be safest there," Eddard stated, before offhandedly adding, "Dragonstone manor is quite large." He watched attentively as Jory pondered the words, and after a moment, he continued speaking and walked toward the young captain, letters firmly held in hand. "I will have only the barest of essentials brought forth from the tower. Tomorrow I will see the move through to completion. I depart the day after."

"Why did you not tell the Lady Sansa of this?" his captain of the guard pointed out.

So worried had he been of what he would find on Dragonstone, and the grand stir that it would cause if true, that the detail had slipped his mind. "My mind was elsewhere," he answered truthfully, eyeing his captain.

"Dragonstone?"

"Aye," he nodded, holding up the letters to Jory. "Hold these close. If I do not return, to thank you for your service and to embrace my daughter, send them out. If I do, burn them." 

* * *

Eddard could not tell how much time had passed since Jory had left, but he was aware of the shadows creeping steadily across the cold stone floor of the study, having grown ever longer once the sun had begun its inevitable descent past its midday zenith. The calm silence had allowed Eddard a moment of respite to collect himself, and his thoughts, grim as they were. He had remained firmly seated, after Cassel's departure, and in his ruminations had pulled out the book of lineages, from the plain wooden shelf to his side. Leafing through the old brown pages, he found the entry which threatened to destroy his friend's rule and took in a deep breath. The damning words screamed at him, _'Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair,'_ Eddard read, then added his own words to the tome the Lady Azula had borrowed from the Grand Maester's library and entrusted to him. _'Stannis Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, second of his name, black of hair. Ursa Baratheon,_ _black of hair_. _Joffrey Baratheon, golden-haired. Tommen Baratheon, golden-haired. Myrcella Baratheon, golden-haired.'_

The last three names had made his stomach turn, for they were innocent, and he knew what awaited them at Robert's hand should his suspicions, and likely those of his late foster father's, prove true.

 _'Regardless, Dragonstone will reveal the truth.'_ Finally disgusted by its contents, he shut it closed and lifted his gaze, scanning the room to distract himself. The room had once belonged to his foster father, a man whom Ned thought of fondly. Sparsely, yet richly furnished, unlike his own study in Winterfell, and clean, though the desk and shelves to his side remained somewhat cluttered. _'Evidence of my continued investigations,'_ he mused. He crossed his forearms and rested them together across his desk, thinking on the woman. All the words they had shared, and not once had she specifically told him that she knew exactly what critical materials the book had possessed within its pages. Nor even the importance of the two children she had taken in from the street of steel and the brothel.

 _'Understandable,'_ he surmised, given the subject's delicate nature, _'but even so.'_

The moments before Sansa had come to inquire about the prince, the woman had held a certain confidence in her step, stance, and voice. However, behind her calm, presentable, demeanour, he saw a subtle fear in her eyes. 

* * *

_"The book?"_ he questioned the smiling woman sitting on the golden bench with brown cushions, hands atop her lap. The newest Hand of the King resided behind his desk, eyes drifting to the book and back again, watching the Lady of Dragonstone as she shifted in her seat. The pleasant smile had slipped slightly, he noted, nevertheless it curiously retained its confident brightness.

 _"What of it, my Lord?"_ her voice was soft, but he heard the uneasy caution underneath.

 _"When you gave me this book,"_ he dug his finger into the cover of the leather-bound book, pausing in uncertainty for a moment, before pressing onward. _"You let it known to me that you held it in your possession since Lord Arryn's death, but until the feast, I had never thought to ask. Why did you have it for so long?"_

 _"Lord Arryn,"_ she answered, the name lingering in the air as a reminder of times gone by. _"He had confided in me once, Lord Stark,"_ the woman rose from her seat and walked towards him, eyes locked with his own. _"He told me the book was important but did not elaborate on why it was so."_

 _"Why did you not tell me of this before?"_ he tensed. _'She's clever,'_ Eddard thought, her exploits had assured him of that, at least. The whole notion that information of such magnitude would have completely passed over her head was incredibly unlikely, and he kicked himself for thinking so. _'The only reason she would have to feign ignorance on the subject was out of fear. Perhaps not for herself, but for her family,'_ the idea slithered into his mind.

The woman looked away, then turned back to him, smile long since faded. _"Because Lord Arryn died soon thereafter, my Lord hand. Perhaps it was old age and sickness like they say? But he was hearty and hale, a man not as old as his aged features would have otherwise indicated. Spirits know my family tree has its fair share of those."_

The wheels in his mind began to spin at her ominous words, and he felt his brow contort in thought. He had deliberated with himself long and hard, on Jon Arryn, wondering if his death had held deeper meaning than it had outwardly seemed. _'Judging by her words, it would appear so,'_ he considered.

 _"Although,"_ she added nervously, _"he had been acting strangely before then."_

 _"How so?"_ he leaned in, staring up at her.

 _"He had approached my husband and I with plans to foster his son on Dragonstone, scarcely a day after he told me of the book,"_ the woman brought her hands up to rub her shoulders in worry, looking more vulnerable now than ever. As soon as she had, she caught herself and lowered her hands, clasping them behind her back. _"However, nothing had ever come of it because of Lord Arryn's passing."_ He remained silent, mulling over Azula's words.

 _"Lord Stark?"_ she stated plainly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. _"Does this have anything to do on your request to visit Dragonstone?"_

 _"Yes,"_ his reply was soft and understanding, but no less grave.

 _"Jon Arryn died for this, my Lord,"_ she warned. _"What secrets lay buried on Dragonstone that you find of significance?"_

 _"I cannot say,"_ he wished he could, but he knew the type of man Stannis Baratheon was. If he revealed his suspicions to the Lady Azula, she would reveal them to her husband and regardless of the truth, Stannis would be duty-bound to report to his king. _'He would be in the right, but I will not have innocent blood on my hands if the rumours prove false after the fact.'_

 _"If you will not reveal the truth to me,_ " she sighed, holding a long silence between them as her molten eyes bored into his. _"Then just tell me if this is worth risking the lives of my family, and my people? Tell me, Lord Stark, tell me this serves the realm, and I will trust your judgement. You are a man of honour, I know you will not lead me astray. However, I must hear the words from your lips."_

 _"If my suspicions hold true, then it is worth it. If they are not, then you needn't worry yourself."_

She remained quiet, staring at him ever more intensely, before suddenly turning on her heel and silently striding to the small arched window looking out into the godswood of the Red Keep. The woman remained frozen, hands at her back, a deep sigh escaped her lips. _"So be it,"_ she whispered loud enough for him to hear.

 _With those words, came Robert's own, the ones he had uttered on their trek from Winterfell to the capital. The words rang in his head, like a drum, and he shuddered. "There's a war coming, Ned. I don't know when, I don't know who we'll be fighting, but its coming. I know it, I feel it in my bones…"_

Eddard had thought to ask her of the boy, Gendry, and the infant Barra. However, he had refrained from doing so, remembering his investigations into the other bastards had yielded nothing on them but false leads, dead ends, mysterious deaths, or sudden disappearances. _'Most had been no older than Rickon or Bran,'_ he thought sadly. He knew the woman had taken in nearly three-hundred random individuals, since her arrival in the capital, before Jon Arryn's death. _'An assortment of blacksmiths and apprentices, whores, tanners, carpenters, people from all walks of life and their families, save the nobles,'_ he mentally listed the types of people reported to have taken up the Lady Azula's offer of better lives. _'Anonymity had protected them thus far,'_ Ned thought, and he saw no need to stoke the flames just yet.

 _"Maybe. Do you know when he will be done?"_ Sansa's voice was unmistakable to his ears, even muffled behind the polished bronze door. A quick glance at the Lady of Dragonstone had revealed that she too had heard Sansa's voice, turning her head ever so slightly to listen, before returning to her silent vigil over the godswood below.

 _"Apologies, but I haven't the slightest, my lady,"_ he heard Jory say. Eddard rose from his seat, before Jory's words were done, and calmly marched to the bronze entryway.

 _"It's quite alright, Jory,"_ he lifted his hand to the door's latch. "I'm sure they will be done…"

 _'Click'_

* * *

He rubbed at his temples, suddenly wishing he was back in Winterfell, free from the intrigue of the south. But now that the lions, and the vipers, had taken hold, he could not tear himself away. The only ones he had spoken at length with had been Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula. He had shared words with others, Ser Barristan, Commander Lee, and Robert, chief amongst them, but the Master of Whisperers had refrained from doing so, affording him only the most basic of courtesies and acknowledgements during their small council meetings, while the Grand Maester seemed to ignore him altogether, except to pester him on the book. _'Baelish was another matter,'_ he idled, thinking on the little man from the fingers. _'He spoke too much, but little of anything,'_ Eddard recalled when he had asked the man of Jon Arryn. Baelish had regaled him with stories of how he had earned his position on the council, how he worked magic with coin, but never anything of substance. _'Baelish thought age and sickness had taken Lord Arryn, like the others,'_ Ned knew _. 'Everyone did, save for Azula._ ' The chair creaked under him, reminding him of the realities he now faced.

 _'Knock!'_

"Lord Stark," Alyn's gruff voice rattled out from behind the bronze door. "A message from King Robert."

Eddard sighed, looking out of the window to the quickly setting sun. _'What could Robert want at this hour?'_ "Enter," he commanded.

The door released a soft groan, as Alyn pushed it open, revealing a bearded man with copper hair. In his hand was a small rolled-up piece of parchment. Unfurling it had revealed more than he had expected, written in Robert's harsh hand.

 _'Council meeting, now. We've found the Targaryen bitch.'_

* * *

No sooner had he reached the outside of the Small Council chambers, than the Lady Azula had issued him a welcomed once more. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon, Lord Stark," she smiled a half-smile, seemingly recalling their earlier conversation.

Ser Steffon stood beside her, both of them having been partially hidden beneath a pillar's shadow and engaged in some hushed conversation prior to his arrival. "Lord Stark," the young knight smiled, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgement. "Ser Brandon, awaits at the manor," Steffon added. Ser Justin and three nameless, fully-armoured, Flameguard stood by mother and son.

"Nor I, you, and I am pleased to hear that Ser Steffon," he replied, smiling a half-smile of his own, mind partially distracted with the question of whom the letter had spoken of. _'Rhaella Targaryen? But she was reported dead long ago.'_ He had briefly thought on asking why they were present but had waved it away, thinking she had been with Lord Stannis when the latter had been summoned. Sers Barristan and Meryn guarded the shut doors leading into the council chambers, both resplendent in their enamelled white-scaled armour and white cloaks. Though he thought the golden sunburst crest of Ser Meryn's helm clashed far too much against the Lord Commander's simple unadorned white helm.

Made of carved wood and lined with wrought iron, the doors behind Robert's Kingsguard expertly muffled the commotion within.

"Have they been there long?" he asked the Lady of Dragonstone.

"Not long, several minutes at most," she replied, having come up next to him, hands at her back, with the Silver-tongue and her Flameguard trailing just behind her, extracting themselves from the shadows. "King Robert and the Spider were apparently the first to arrive, seeing as they had been within when my husband and I had come. We encountered Lord Baelish and Pycelle, just as we came to the outside of the council chambers."

"What of Ren…" he had started before hurried footfalls sounded behind him. They all turned, revealing the King's youngest brother.

"Lord Stark! Good-sister! Nephew!" Renly exclaimed in-between laboured breaths, though he tried his best to hide it. His clothing appeared slightly off, with a button undone near the neck of his embroidered vest of back and gold and ruffled silken sleeves. "Good to see I'm not the last to arrive!" the Lord of Storm's End smiled and straightened himself, before moving to hug Ser Steffon and pat him on the shoulder.

"First time for everything, good brother," Azula's velvety voice added, the mirth readily evident in her tone as she put forth her hand. Renly quickly ignored the offered hand in favour of another friendly embrace. The woman blinked, having been surprised, but a genuine smile graced her lips as she returned the hug.

"Well, in the matters of punctuality, I defer to you, _good_ sister," Renly replied with a grin, before turning back to him. "Come, Lord Stark, let us see what Targaryen Robert has on his mind now." Renly tapped him on the shoulder before he strolled by Ser Barristan whom, Eddard noted, held a slight frown as he opened the doors to the council chambers.

 _'In my dreams, I kill him every night,'_ Robert's words echoed at the back of his mind, along with another voice.

 _'Promise me, Ned.'_

After giving a final farewell to the Lady Azula and her son, Eddard followed Renly into the room, the door shutting behind him as he did so.

The iron door seemed to have closed far too loudly, groaning in protest all the way before releasing a thundering _'slam!'_ Robert had been seated at the centre of the council table, opposite Grand Maester Pycelle, and was reading through several weathered pieces of parchment, while a frowning Lord Stannis sat to his left. Lord Varys stood to the right of the King, near his own seat, while Lord Baelish sat to the opposite left, facing Lord Stannis. The seat of the Master of Laws faced the seat of the Master of Whisperers and was to the right of the Hand's seat, where Renly was already making himself comfortable. Robert glanced up from his collection of missives, just as Eddard was seating himself beside his childhood friend. "Renly. Ned," he stated. "Varys brings news. Go on, tell him," the King muttered in a low tone, motioning to the Master of Whisperers, before noticing how close the Spider had been standing. "Stop crowding me, eunuch," he warned, returning his gaze to the letters in his hand, as the bald man bowed and scuttled away to his seat.

Lord Varys sat and looked to him, a strange look crossing his lilac eyes as he did so. "It would appear that we have located the final Targaryen. A girl by the name of Ivory, daughter of Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen, and sister to Viserys Targaryen," the eunuch spoke.

He winced at the name 'Viserys,' knowing it had been a sore spot between him and the King. A spot he had chosen not to mention, so long as Robert had not mentioned it to him in turn. This time, however, Robert had not seemed to have cared overmuch about the mentioning of Viserys' name. He instead seemed unusually focused with the letters in his hand.

"By all rights a threat to the King's reign, if she could gather support," Baelish added, now looking to him as well.

"What?" Renly questioned, presumably just as surprised by the sudden revelation of another living Targaryen as he was. "Where in the blazes did this come from? Last words held that the former Queen had perished in Essos after her crew had been captured by pirates near the Stepstones."

"It's possible she died whilst in the throes of childbirth, during her…' _captivity_ ,'" the Grand Maester's aged voice pointed out, as he calmly rested his hands on the table.

He shook his head, not wanting to know what the former Queen, or her supposed child, had suffered under the hands of pirates. A quick glance to Renly had revealed that he too seemed distraught by Pycelle's words, though he had regained his composure quickly enough. _'Baelish does not seem concerned in the least,'_ he noted, seeing nothing within the man's grey-green eyes.

"Bah! The fucking Stepstones, again," Robert growled, pushing the letters forward in disgust, to the centre of the table where they were within reach of them all. Littlefinger moved first, followed by Pycelle, but Lord Stannis slammed his hand over the collection of parchments, preventing the two men from acquiring them. "I should have gone, brother, then maybe the bitch wouldn't have escaped. "

Stannis slid the letters in his direction, allowing him a chance to read them.

The missives were worn and well-travelled, with small dark-red splotches staining their edges and corners. _'How many hands did these messages change? How many lives did they cost?'_ he wondered, as he read the hastily written words aloud.

 _"A girl of the proper age, and with Targaryen features has been spotted nestled away in the bowels of the pirate ship 'the Bloody Woman,' captained by one Vargyros Brenoran, a darkly-coloured, sinewy Qohorik man with sharpened teeth. His ship is reddish-brown with purple sails. The so-called 'Baby-eater,' bears a tattoo of 'the Black Goat' across half of his pockmarked face. The man's first mate drunkenly spoke of bedding a queen from Westeros, several years ago, that was 'freshly dead.'"_

Ned's stomach turned at the thought, with Pycelle's and Renly's faces having expressed what his face did not. Lord Stannis had remained stoically composed, though his right-eye twitched. Batting away the gruesome thought, he questioned the bald eunuch, "How old is this message, Lord Varys?"

"A year and eight-moons, my Lord Hand," the Master of Whisperers replied with a curious gaze. "Nearly three moons prior to the invasion of the Stepstones, by the Royal Fleet, to be exact."

"A tad bit late, don't you think Lord Varys?" Renly and Baelish both appeared to have wanted to say the same thing, though Renly's words spilt forth first. The young lord's face was still twisted in revulsion.

"And what happened to this so-called, _'Baby-eater_?' I presume he was not captured during the attack?" the Master of Coin asked, a hint of incredulous amusement was laced into his words.

"Unknown," Varys answered. "News from after the raid is scarce. News from during? Rarer still. Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula were very, _'thorough,'_ " Ned noticed the eunuch and Master of Ships exchanging steely glances, ones composed of lyrical amethysts and burning sapphires. "Perhaps he did escape? As it is, the original authors of the letters were lost on the Stepstones."

"How so?" he asked.

"Murdered by, forgive me if I misremember, 'a man with an eye-patch, and bearing a strong likeness to one…Euron Greyjoy?'" the portly man turned to him, scrunching his brow.

"Greyjoy!? Impossible! Wasn't that despicable man killed alongside his brother, during the Greyjoy rebellion, my lord?" Pycelle wheezed.

"Indeed, Grand Maester," Varys agreed. "After the burning of Lannisport, if I am not mistaken? Though it would appear the…"

" _Rumors_ are unsubstantiated," Lord Baelish cut in smoothly, a sharp grin lining his face. "And are not fact, unless proven otherwise. Grand Maester? Lord Varys? The both of you should know better."

"Correct, and we should not treat them as such," the Lord of Dragonstone cautioned, seemingly surprised at Baelish's word, though it did not stop the sombre Lord of Dragonstone from eyeing the three men with a withering glare.

Eddard silently wondered if those statements had been meant for him, but quickly dispelled the idea, as both the Master of Ships and Baelish, seemed more focused on one another, rather than himself.

"Oh for…" Robert slammed his hand on the table. "Read the other bloody reports, Ned," he roared, rattling them all out of their conversations.

"Yes, your grace," he lifted the second letter, and read the words written with a noticeably softer hand than the first.

 _'A group of Red Priests, twenty in total, and several mutes have made port at Grey Gallows. They were aboard a small trading vessel hailing from Asshai. A woman with red hair led them to a small tavern where they met with 'the Baby-eater,' and his crew. The woman and pirate sat away from others, with the mutes, red priests, and captain's crewmen, blocking others from entering their conversation, though not all. The words, 'Kraken,' 'Horn,' 'Dragon,' and 'Egg,' were overheard more than once, as well as some exchange of gold between the red priestess and the pirate.'_

"Egg? A Dragon egg?" Renly seemed stunned. "What madness do they hope to accomplish? Hatching one hasn't been done since the Dance!"

"It was a bit after, I believe. Or was it before?" Littlefinger supplied, though he appeared uncertain.

"And _'the Kraken_?'" Pycelle asked, "Perhaps the Greyjoys intend to rouse the Iron Islands once more, under the banner of the Dragon? This…Ivory, was it? How do we even know if she is a true Targaryen? Velaryons and Celtigars, share the blood of the Dragon, and bear similar features."

"And who knows how many with such features are scattered throughout the free cities?" Baelish's raspy voice called out.

"Hmmm," the old maester tilted his head in agreement. "What proof have you, of this 'Ivory' being a Targaryen?"

 _'Everyone appears to be dismissing the word, 'Horn,'_ he realized, before looking toward his old friend. A furious storm raged in the King's eyes, and he saw his lips curling downward.

"None, save the words from the final message," twin mauves looked to him, urging him to read the third letter.

He looked to the council, then recited the final hurriedly written missive. The words were scratched onto the paper in jagged lines, completely bereft of the smoothness of the second letter.

 _'The Crow's Eye is here! His red priestess had struck a bargain with the captain of 'the Bloody Woman!' The Targar…'_ the words cut off, replaced by a sinister-looking hand with curved, tendril-like letters. _'Targaryen girl is here! And she is mine! Come and take her, come and claim her, you fat stag! If you can find me! If not, then that would be yet another woman you failed to save!'_

"That fucking squid is dead," Robert issued a low, rumbling, promise. The others surrounding the table shared varied looks of surprise, save Lord Stannis.

His blood began to boil in agreement, for he knew whom the man meant. At the bottom of the letter, he noticed a large red blot and the bloody imprint of a single finger.

"I was told the letter contained a tongue before it reached my hands," the Spider explained. "The timing of the letter seems to indicate that it was written a scant few days prior to the raid."

"Have you any clue where the Crow's Eye has gone?" Ned finally asked, after his blood had cooled.

"Sightings of a ship bearing the likeness of the one he used in the Rebellion was spotted near the ruins of Valyria and even as far out as the Basilisk Isles, but he has thus far refused to make port for an extended period of time."

The Master of Ships cleared his throat. "A report from one of my Lady's warriors indicated she slew a man with an eye-patch, during the battle of Grey Gallows, before kicking his corpse into the sea."

Robert blinked, then barked, "And you had not thought to mention this fact, brother?"

"Greyjoy had been presumed dead after the Rebellion, your grace," Stannis countered. "I had no reason to believe the man still lived. Though the point is moot since I had nought the opportunity to examine the body. What interests me the most, however, is the mention of the ship with purple sails."

"The Bloody Woman?" he probed, leaning into the conversation as the others had.

"Yes, Lord Stark, that very one," the Lord of Dragonstone answered. "Given this revelation," the man lingered on his words. "It would seem the reports my lady wife has received from the Stannisfort, in regards to a ship bearing 'the Bloody Woman's' likeness, have now suddenly risen in importance. If the attack on the Stepstones disrupted whatever business the Crow's Eye had, or if he had truly been slain, then 'the Bloody Woman' is now our best bet to uncover what transpired on the Stepstones. Perhaps this 'Ivory Targaryen' remains their captive? Even if the Crow's Eye yet lives, whatever plans he had for this supposed Targaryen girl seem to have thus far not borne fruit. The fact that sightings of his ship and those of the Bloody Woman hint at an easterly direction would indicate some discordance having occurred. Perhaps due to the raid?"

"An astute observation, my lord," Baelish's words again seemed to surprise the Master of Ships.

"I would hope Greyjoy yet lives, so I could strangle the life out of him, myself." Robert turned to glare at the Master of Whisperers, "If the Lady Azula can find long-thought dead men, and hidden ships, _by accident_ , faster than your web of little birds, then maybe she should be Master of Whisperers in your stead?" 

"Hmmm, another Tyanna of _Pentos_?" Baelish grinned, looking to the spider.

"Or another Lady Misery..." Pycelle mumbled, earning him a glare from the Master of Ships.

Varys' shared a look with the Master of Coin, both the eunuch's chair and that of Pycelle's, creaked. "You are the king, your grace," the bald man nodded. "If such was your wish, I would do nothing to hinder the appointment."

"Hmph," Robert snorted. "Is that so?" he asked, letting an awkward silence fill the air. "Well, allow me to give you a chance to keep your position. If your little birds bring me the Targaryen girl and the one-eyed cunt, _alive_ , you'll keep your post." The king's eye lingered on the Spider. "If, however, my brother's wife can find them first," the King twisted his thick neck and faced his brother, Lord Stannis. "Then the post is hers. Any council against?"

The Grand Maester appeared ready to speak, but remained silent, alongside Varys. Eddard noticed something in the eunuch's eyes, something he had seen only on the battlefield. _'Fear.'_ Lords Baelish and Renly, however, had both smirked. Renly slightly moreso than the Lord of the Fingers, while the middle Baratheon brother's brooding scowl changed into a straight, tight-lipped face.


	64. (King's Landing) Cersei VII

(King's Landing: 10/11/298) Cersei VII

 _'Squawk! Squawk!'_

 _'Those damned birds,'_ she hissed, watching as the gulls hovered near the beach. From atop the pier she observed those beneath her, the clear blue water churned and roiled, and a trail of black smoke rose just over the horizon.

Dock workers ran to and fro, in haste, sharing in their paymasters' needs for efficiency and timeliness. "Get those chains up! Lord Stannis and the Fire Lord wanted everything ready, yesterday! "She heard a short Yi-Tish man shout, ordering some of those below. Most of the workers shared the man's complexion and look, which Cersei had long suspected was due to the woman having brought them over from Dragonstone.

 _'Hmph! Fire Lord,'_ Cersei snorted, lifting her nose at the presumptuous title. _'Bitch must believe all the rot those red vermin spew.'_ Even now, as the dock workers scuttled around readying crates marked 'tea leaves,' and other assorted trappings, she couldn't help but wonder if they even knew their lives would soon change.

"Clear the docks of clutter, I want all outgoing cargo bound and ready! Heave!" another Yi-Tish man, larger than the first, shouted to several men near the wooden boxes. The men saluted and set about following their commands.

Normally, Cersei would have been pleased to hear the woman was leaving her sight, but this time her mind turned to worry. Speculation on what the whore and the mongrel would discover on Dragonstone had occupied her mind as of late. She had known that two of the King's bastards had survived her purge in the capital, due to having been taken to that dreary place. _'Under the command of that damned woman, no less!'_ However, she did not know if that had been the intention, for the woman had been noted for having taken others from all walks of life, her spies in the capital had told her as much, and it was possible that the connection was merely coincidental. _'Even so,'_ she thought, _'it would be unwise to leave it at that…'_

"Ha! Ha! Ned, when the both of you come back, we'll get that fucking squid. For Lyanna! And that Targaryen girl too! Then maybe I can finally get someone I can trust on the council, other than you lot!" that booming voice was hard to forget, try as she might. Down there, past the shouting workers, Cersei spied her pig of a husband, and his meddlesome brothers, loitering about the 'cement' docks and guarded by Sers Barristan and Mandon.

 _'Look at him,'_ she glared at Robert, _'nestled amongst that pack of wolves and the she-bitch.'_ The young-wolf, Bran, looked to be play sparing with the Greyjoy boy, while Robert, Renly, Steffon, and Azula joked and laughed amongst themselves. Stannis and Lord Stark, however, did not seem to share in their enthusiasm, and simply refrained from laughing or, in the case of Stannis, even smiling. At the woman's back stood nearly one-hundred of her black-plated Flameguard, while a familiar woman in crimson robes stood to her left.

 _'Stork. There you are,'_ Cersei's gaze remained fixed on her spy long enough for the grey woman to spot her. _'You'd best remain silent, woman, or that bitch won't be able to protect you…'_ her eyes burned into the whore's household servant, and despite the distance between them, she felt the woman shudder in fear.

Finally turning away from the woman, she spied a large man sporting a mane of pure white hair, with skin black as coal, lingering at Azula's right side. Cersei noted the strange fire markings coiled around his cheeks and most of his face. _'Another accursed priest…'_ she frowned, analyzing the dark-skinned man, before spotting Thoros of Myr. The thin bearded man with the shiny bald head was clad Dragonstone-plate, like the others, and was the priest that came before even her husband had taken the crown. She knew Thoros had attempted to convert the Mad King, but in end had given into wine and women. That was until the bitch came to make her home on Dragonstone. Now, he rarely left Stannis' side, and not once did he ever wag his tongue for gold.

"And where are you from, large man?" she heard the Prince of Dorne question, in an attempt to engage the hulking red priest in conversation.

"Volantis," a throaty voice replied, the tone lacking any obvious interest in frivolous banter.

"Hmmm, Volantis," Oberyn nodded, his black viper eyes seemingly recalling an earlier memory. His glossy black hair shimmered in the morning sun. "One of my daughters was born there, Nymeria Sand. A beautiful girl of five and twenty, slim and slender as a willow."

She turned from the one-sided conversation and watched the group of sixteen Goldcloaks, who were hugging the walls of the pier below. Half bore plate armour of Dragonstone make, and stood closest to the King, while the others were spread evenly on either side, bearing simple chainmail, and armed with iron cudgels. The new Commander of the City Watch, and Ser Jacelyn Bywater stood at the forefront, their keen eyes observing all movement on the docks. Not one to be outdone, Cersei herself was surrounded by guardians of her own. Twenty red cloaks and two of the Kingsguard, Sers Meryn and Boros, both of them hers, kept a vigilant watch over her and her eldest son, who stood beside her, silent as the grave.

"You flatter me with the opportunity, your grace," Azula bowed. "Truly, your largess knows no bounds!"

"Haha! But that is where you have it wrong goodsister! My largess does have bounds!" Robert clasped at his belt and ran his thumbs along the inside of the studded leather strap. "When this belt no longer fits, my bounds would have been met!"

"No, your grace, you are as fit as a man half your age!" the woman obviously lied, and even from this distance that venomous voice infuriated her. Somehow proving to be just as loud and obnoxious as Robert's own in its vapid reply.

 _'Its almost as if she's doing it on purpose, to annoy me,'_ Cersei briefly considered.

"Nonsense!" Robert unleashed a hearty laugh, then stood by Ser Steffon, and placed his fat hand over the young knight's shoulder. "This is what a man, half my age is like! Seven-hells, he is me when I was half my bloody age!"

"Hmph," Joffrey snorted, finally breaking his silence, and sharing her thoughts.

"As you say, your grace," Azula smiled. "I will strive to bring you the Targaryen girl and the Crow's Eye, alive, and I'm sure 'the Pirate's Bane' would be more than eager to assist me in such a task?" the bitch spared a glance to Theon Greyjoy, who stopped sparring with the Stark boy, at the mention of his nickname, and brought his fist to his chest.

"I will bring my treacherous uncle, to face the King's justice. Your justice. This I swear, on my honour as a knight of the seven-kingdoms!" the young man promised, bowing his head.

"Good man! Good knight!" Robert slapped the knight's right arm.

"Indeed," the Red Viper replied, finally having given up in his attempts to speak to the large man with pitch black skin. "How many ships were you responsible for sinking at the Stepstones, again? Eleven?"

"Yes, Prince Oberyn," Greyjoy nodded, a stupid grin lining his youthful face. "I took command of 'the Cassana,' after my captain had been struck dead by a Lyseni arrow, and kept pirates from fleeing Bloodstone. I saw Lord Stannis fighting along the beaches, putting all the Pirate towns to the torch."

"An impressive number, especially for one so young," Oberyn replied, "and where was the lovely Lady of Dragonstone at this time?"

"Ha! Ha! Flatterer," the bitch tittered, covering her mouth like some highborn slut before her voice turned plain. "I was securing Grey Gallows, Prince Oberyn. So many rats in their nests, nestled deep within that horrid island. They needed proper ' _encouragement'_ to reveal themselves."

"Hmmm, what of the beaches?" Oberyn asked, leaning in, seemingly enthralled with the conversation. The others had grown quiet as well, listening intently.

"I coordinated with troops along the beach, while Lieutenant Chi-Ha purged the rickety wooden docks clean of pirates. She even managed to set several anchored ships aflame," Azula continued.

"Ohhh, sounds like a fascinating woman," he lingered on his words, while Robert and Stark seemed to share knowing looks with one another.

"She is a highly competent commander and skilled soldier, though not much of a conversationalist," Stannis' wife agreed. "You will meet her soon, Prince Oberyn, she will be arriving with several others to replace the Flameguard that I will be taking from the city."

"In any case, you have our thanks, Lord Stannis, Ser Theon, my Lady," the Prince of Dorne replied, nodding his head. "Those pirates had been thorns in my brother's side, in Dorne's side, for some time. The narrow sea seems to grow safer every passing year," the man added.

"Such is the purpose of the Royal fleet," Robert's grim brother supplied, his frown having never left his face.

She smelled that old smell creep upon her, confirming the doddering old fool, Pycelle, had arrived at her side. He drew closer and whispered in her ear, "The Stark household now resides within the manor."

She pulled away, discomforted by the old man's proximity, and noticed the eunuch approaching, to her genuine surprise. _'No Baelish, however,'_ she noted the man's conspicuous absence. _'Where is that little man?'_ She seethed, recently having grown to utterly despise Littlefinger more than she normally did. _'I am very eager to break words with him.'_ When Pycelle had brought her news of the snivelling traitor's words, during the council meeting two days past, she had been livid, and not yet fully recovered from the revelation that Robert had allowed Eddard Stark to send his household away from the tower of the hand, and away from her purview. _'Away from her family's sworn swords._ _Bah!'_ she bit her finger, deliberating on what to do, now that the Stark girl was out of her reach. _'A useful hostage, should Stark discover something…'_ Deep in thought, she barely noticed the black flaky substance that fluttered about, circling around them. One errant piece of ash passed down, in-between her eyes, and drew her attention, as it landed softly on her nose. She grasped at her face and peeled off the black flake, then looked up to see others of its number drifting along the wind like little black feathers.

"Godwyn!" she called upon her nearby Lannister guard, flicking off the piece of ash from her finger. The Lannister guard knew what her command had meant even though she hadn't specified, and quickly moved to unsheathe the wooden contraption from his back. _'A parasol,'_ they called it, another invention from Dragonstone, and yet another reason why Cersei hated that place.

Joffrey swiftly followed suit and issued orders of his own. "Ser Boros!" her golden lion commanded. Blount clicked opened a parasol above Joffrey's head, just as Godwyn had opened one above hers. The wooden objects helped to shield them both from the dirty, black, ash.

Down on the docks, all of the Dragonstone household and guards pulled out parasols of their own, obscuring everyone from view, though she could still hear Robert's unmistakable voice blasting out from underneath the papery canopies. "I still forget how bloody massive those things are!" Robert shouted over the rising din of the oncoming ship.

The floating bulk of steel had grown closer now, its dark features now readily identified. A deep grey hull led into a sharp three-pointed prow of black steel with a golden-trim, while a large palace-like structure rested within the middle of the thing and radiated a certain 'presence' that even Cersei could feel descending over her. The carracks that had occupied the bay had made way for the monstrosity. Several had hailed from the free-cities, Volantis sails chief amongst the ones seen, as well as three from Pentos, and one Swan ship from the Summer Islands. A bevvy of smaller trading cogs from the free-cities and beyond were docked along the far side of the pier, a safe distance away from 'the Ozai.'

 _'BOOOOOOOOM!'_ a horn sounded and the spout of smoke emanating from the twin cylinders, behind the small palace, gradually decreased. The blackest of clouds remained behind, hovering over them, reminding her of the Stranger.

 _'Of all things…'_ the unease crept into her mind.

"Seven-hells, and how loud they were!" the crowned swine bellowed down below, destroying the dark feeling, and replacing it with annoyance once more.

The ship had yet to enter the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, and instead cautiously skirted at its edges like some great beast, positioning itself to dock with the concrete platform. Somehow, despite its massive size, the thing managed to not beach itself along the outcropping of sand and small pebbles.

 _'PFFTT! HISSS!'_ the tall grey cylinders released irregular puffs of black smoke, while white-hot steam shot out from the 'tubes' and 'vents' near the base of the towering steel spouts. The ship groaned, its strange steel insides unleashing metallic gnashing noises as it slowly moved into place.

Atop the deck of the massive transport, she could make out twenty man-sized tubes of steel with golden stag embellishment, pointing outwards, and lining the edges of the vessel. At the ship's center, stood the one-hundred perfectly still forms of Stannis' household replacement guard. Unlike the plated Flameguard, whom the woman was departing with, these individuals bore uniforms similar to the ones their liege-whore would wear, and they all bore their infamous bone-white faceplates, barring one, whom Cersei could not see clearly yet. She heard a groan come from the ship as it ceased its movements, already having positioned itself correctly. Several of those on deck lifted a thick wooden platform and lowered it to meet the dock below.

 _'CLONK!'_ it landed, forming a small bridge three horses across, and six horses long.

"Finally!" Robert thundered. "I have yet to break my fast, and was told such would be awaiting me on 'the Ozai.'"

"Indeed, your grace! Dishes from my homeland!" the woman replied eagerly, turning to face the oncoming group of the one-hundred replacements. Robert moved out from the cover of the parasols, while the others took positions behind.

Walking shoulder to shoulder, the collection of Yi-Tish rabble was split into two groups, and the figure she had seen bearing an open-faced helmet became clear. A single Yi-Tish woman with a scar running down her face, came up the middle, heading the newest assembly of Dragonstone filth. Even clad in her strange armour, Cersei could tell that hard muscle flexed underneath the black, gold-trimmed, uniform. The woman's helm was black with a golden flame-like embellishment circling either side of the woman's open helm and tapering off slightly past the top. Once the group had reached the mouth of the dock, where it opened up to the rest of the pier, the scarred woman stepped forward and stopped, facing Robert and the rest. Those following behind her split and formed up along the edges of the pier, facing their City Watch counterparts, hands at their backs.

"Your grace," the woman knelt.

After a moment, she saw Robert lower his hand and gesture for the woman to rise. "A pleasure to finally meet you in person, ' _lieutenant_ ,'" Robert stuttered at the term, watching as the woman rose stiffly from her kneeling position. "Did I say the word correctly?"

"Yes, your grace," the woman affirmed and nodded her head once. She stood with her feet shoulder length apart and hands at her back, like the others.

"Come, now!" Robert stated, clasping at Yi-Tish woman's broad shoulders. "You needn't kneel," Azula's newest guard seemed to stiffen at the sudden contact, before looking over to where the bitch of Dragonstone had been standing, and softening her stance. "You are a warrior and a disciplined one at that! I've heard of your accomplishments during the rebellion and the campaign on the Stepstones. You should be celebrated, as should the others who followed you bravely into battle. You do not follow the seven and cannot be anointed as a knight. Regardless, you, and those who fought to defend my kingdom, stand as knights of the highest order, in my mind."

"It is an honour, your grace," she bowed respectively once more, a slight smile formed on her scarred face, though her eyes spoke of a different feeling.

Robert looked back, releasing the woman, and waving forward. "Well, goodsister, if you would kindly lead the way. It is your ship, and I'm starving."

"With pleasure, my king," that annoying voice slithered out from the beneath the forest of parasols. "Will you be joining us, husband?"

"In a moment," Stannis' iron voice answered. "I will oversee the loading of cargo, until its completion."

"Very well," his whore replied, before casting one last look and marching forward with Robert, Sers Barristan and Mandon, Stark, Renly, the large dark-skinned priest, Oberyn and his paramour, Theon, Steffon, the young Bran, Stork, and her household guard in tow.

 _'What a quaint little procession of parasols,'_ Cersei cast a small frown, as she heard Joffrey move, and head back to the keep. Pycelle shuffled away quickly thereafter, leaving her, Trant, a handful of Lannister guard, and the eunuch behind. _'If only a wave would come and wash them all away,'_ she grinned at the thought, unconcerned with the fact that she would lose her spy in the process. _'All of my enemies dead, in one fell swoop, save Stannis,'_ she looked to Robert's second brother, as he shouted orders to the dock workers, and glowered.

"Your grace," Varys muttered in her ear. "I have heard whispers from my little birds. Whispers that may interest you."

She turned to the Spider, then back to the docks, before turning heel and walking away. "At this point, I have no choice but to find it interesting, eunuch."

* * *

 _'Squawk! Squawk!'_

The gulls continued their annoying calls overhead as they walked down the crooked cobblestone path, pigeons 'cooed' along the battlements and roof of the guard house to her left. Sers Meryn and Boros stepped forward and pressed the doors of the Red Keep open, allowing her and Varys to pass before following them through. Her slippers felt the smooth marble beneath her heels, and she silently rejoiced, finally free from the loose cobblestone that had dug into her heels on their trek back to the keep.

"I trust you are silent for a reason, and not out of some misguided attempt at keeping me in suspense? Go on, out with it!" she scolded. Cersei Lannister had other things to worry about, and the quicker she could be away from the Spider and allowed time to gather her bearings for the final push, the better. She had nought the time, nor the inclination to play games with the Master of Whisperers. "There are no prying eyes nor ears lurking about. The Red Keep is mine, you know this. You promised me something worthwhile and have uttered nothing since we left the docks."

"Of course, your grace," the man bowed his head, his fat hands hidden beneath voluminous robes. "I believe the first thing of interest, that you should be made aware of, are the whereabouts of Lord Baelish."

"Oh? And where is that mockingbird?" her voice carried somewhat in the nearly deserted keep. Several guards milled about, holding conversations of their own, while a myriad of servants went about tidying up furniture and replacing candles. She knew them all, and they were all hers, no one would talk about what they might hear coming from her lips.

"I believe he was last seen entering the establishment of one, Xai Bau," the spider replied, a knowing look lingered in his eyes as he looked to her.

"'The Opal Dragon?' What of it? Why should I be concerned with the tea shop of some stinking Yi-Tishman?" she questioned, knowing full well that the bitch had never shown much interest in the tea shop other than providing the coin to have it built. "Not once, in the six years that it has stood, has the woman entered that cesspool."

"So it would seem, your grace," Varys replied in a leading tone.

She stopped in her tracks, listening as the last of their footsteps finished echoing out, disappearing somewhere down the halls of the keep. "I've no time for riddles or tricks," Cersei faced the Master of Whisperers and poked a finger into his flabby chest, staring him down. "Speak plainly, Varys," she let the unspoken threat linger in the air, forgetting about Baelish entirely, and focusing on the eunuch's shadowed words.

"As you wish, your grace," the eunuch nodded, his double chin forming quickly, before vanishing entirely with the rise of his head. "What do you know of glamours?"

"Glamours? Is that some sort of Essosi mummery?" she snorted.

"Of a sort, my queen," Varys' twin amethysts bore a starling resolve, a resolve she had seen countless times chiselled into her father's own eyes. "A form of red priest…trickery, for lack of a better word. It allows one to take on the guise of another, similar to the Faceless Men of Braavos."

She felt a chill run down her spine. "Go on."

"Ever since the woman came to the capital, in the months prior to the death of the former hand, I have watched her every move. How she walks, how she eats, who she speaks to," his voice had grown low, not at all like the mirthful, mysterious tone he would display with others. She remained silent, motioning for him to continue. "She arrived with an ordinary looking woman as her personal attendant," Varys looked to her because he knew she was aware of who this 'attendant' was.

"Stork," she muttered.

"Indeed. At first, I held the woman in low regard, only bearing the slightest of interests, and had instead chosen to focus my efforts on the Lady of Dragonstone," he continued. "After some months, I began to notice certain peculiarities with the Lady of Dragonstone. A minor change in gait here and there, a softer voice at every other gathering, a confusing pattern of places visited and items purchased. It seemed strange that she would do such things until I decided to shift my attentions to the Stork woman."

"What did you discover?" she felt her anger rising. _'If this lurid tale is true, I will make both of those traitorous women pay, dearly. How much of Stork's…or the bitch's words did I devour? Oh yes, they will pay!'_

"She displayed similar tendencies to one of noble birth, while at the same time her 'Lady' displayed some of the more baffling propensities I stated earlier. Naturally, I grew curious and followed Stork. I learned of her past as a mummer, and saw, to my great interest, that she had quite the habit of fading away into the shadows. On many occasions, I might add. Somehow she managed to escape my little birds every now and then, but not always," the Spider grinned a terrible grin. "Then it came to me one night. A startling revelation. One that I had been a fool to not have uncovered sooner, and nought but seven days ago had decided to test."

Cersei understood the meaning of his words, even though they had sounded like utter madness. "Oh?"

"I encountered the 'Lady Azula' within the markets down near the Hook," Varys persisted in his troubling account. "Apparently shopping with her son, if you could believe it. They had made seemingly spontaneous purchases. Nothing of note, as far as I could tell."

"It was a distraction," she hissed, remembering the reports her spies had brought her on Azula's movements _. 'I was fucking talking with that bloody Stor…the gods' damned whore that day!'_ Cersei clenched her hands tightly, nearly breaking the skin of her palms. _'I could have gutted you!'_

"My thoughts, exactly," Varys agreed. "The endeavour had been a risk, most certainly," Varys droned on to nearly deaf ears, as her rage slowly simmered. "Considering the woman's 'reputation,' but it had borne the ripest of fruit. I exchanged words with the Lady of Dragonstone and found her wanting. She was not the Lady of Dragonstone."

"Bah!" she scoffed, turning to face the bald eunuch. "Assuming this is true, and you'd best hope it is, or I _will_ have you killed for misleading me, what am I to do with this information now? The Stork woman and the bitch are both soon to be safely back on Dragonstone. They are, at the moment, beyond my reach," she glared at him. "And yours too apparently, since you have yet to give me any meaningful words on what has been transpiring on Dragonstone ever since my husband gave Stannis those damned rocks. Unless, of course, you are hiding something from me?"

"I would never, your grace," he bowed. "The woman's net is large, and it covers her holdings quite tightly."

"Of course, you wouldn't," she raised a brow. "Can't your little birds find their way through?" Cersei questioned.

"They have tried," he answered simply, the unspoken words of 'and died' lingered in the space between them.

"What then? You want us to cook up some wild allegations to bring the woman down upon her return?" she almost laughed at the sheer lunacy of it all.

"Nothing so dramatic, your grace," the Spider advised.

"If you have an idea that rids us of her, see it done. You have my blessing. Gods know I would love to see her in chains, but I personally have no time to waste helping you devise an elaborate scheme to rid ourselves of her. I have other concerns, Lord Varys. Concerns that require my full attention. At the moment, Azula is not worth the effort. Though she has more than earned enough of my ire to warrant action against her." Cersei narrowed her eyes and practically burned a hole through Varys' face. "However, I will deal with her and the Stork woman's duplicity once time permits _,_ " she lingered on her words, catching herself before she could utter her remaining thoughts aloud. ' _I need the Baratheon brothers out of the way first. Before Stark returns…'_

"I will do what I can to serve the realm, your grace," the eunuch smiled, and presented a slight bow, his fat hands still hidden beneath orange robes.


	65. (The Foggy Canyons) Arya IV

(Winterfell: _The Foggy Canyons_ 298) Arya IV

The sun shone brightly above her, warm air blowing through her hair as she glided downward from in-between the wispy white clouds, over the shattered, deathly barren, earth far below. Wide canyons and narrow ravines traced along the ground, each filled to the brim with a fog so thick it appeared as milk and spilt slightly over the upper edges of the chasm walls. The white veins of the broken land spread out into the far horizon in all directions, and along several stretches of the misty depths, a dull orange light coursed throughout, hidden beneath the foggy veil. Arya knew well the colour of burning coals, and the mysterious light underneath shared in its hue.

 _'Something is burning down there,'_ she told herself. High as she was, Arya could still feel the rippling waves of a fiery warmth dancing across her skin, _'and its very hot.'_ Despite the odd heat, the clear skies that surrounded them had almost managed to bestow a sense of calm over her mind. Almost. Far out in the distance, to the east, across the scarred plain, Arya spied a black storm brewing, marring the pristine azure sky.

Despite Bran's proximity, Arya still felt alone, and his continued silence during their journey into the sky had finally tugged at her last nerve. "That storm to the east," she blurted out. "What is it?"

Her 'older,' second youngest, brother remained quiet for a moment before sighing. "Change," he replied, the telltale sounds of exhaustion readily evident in his tone as he flew beside her.

"Change? What do you mean?" her interest piqued, the crashes of rolling thunder echoing out over the desolate landscape.

"Exactly what it sounds like," he continued. "Time, as it should have been, no longer follows its destined course. Even now, someone works to shape destiny as she sees fit, and it all started the moment the woman stepped foot into the world."

"She?" Arya pressed, looking down and watching as shadows began creeping upon the land. Ashen clouds had begun forming above them, she realized and looked to her brother who seemed not in the least bit troubled.

"Hmph," he snorted, sparing her a glance. "She's nothing more than a smoky shadow in the corner of my mind, whispering honeyed poison into my ears, laughing her silken laugh, and her eyes, Arya…" Bran shuddered. "They burn like the sun and yet strangely they seem blacker than the night sky." Bran looked wistfully to the east as a dark pall briefly crossed his aged features. "Gods know I could've lived without ever seeing those…"

"What does she want?" she continued, her youthful curiosity once again getting the better of her.

"I know not. She shows me things I do not recall, 'gifts' she calls them. Perhaps they are memories I should not have? But whatever her reasons, they are hers alone. Fortunately, her twins are more easily defined in their machinations. They appear as two raven-haired children, with golden eyes, on occasion. But more often than not, they take the guise of hawks, black dogs, bats, crows, snakes, and all manner of beast and creature in between. They are down there, Arya. Somewhere. Hidden in the canyons, under the cracked ground, watching our trek across the sky. They are always watching."

The words chilled her to the bone and she spared a glance down upon the splintered field, and the many misty canyons therein, but spotted nothing.

Bran chuckled harshly. "I hold no illusions on who she is, her and her children, litt…big sister. I know what they represent to me, to us," he looked to her with a mix of sadness and anger in his eyes, but below even that, she saw the look of relief. A look one would have after a long day's work, a look her father always wore when he would perform his many duties as Warden of the North.

"What are they?" Arya probed, feeling as the air above had begun to grow cold even though the air beneath had kept its pleasant warmness.

"She is to Bloodraven, what you are to me," Bran answered. "A replacement. One far more dangerous than even the three-eyed crow could have ever imagined, and they are her instruments."

"But is not Bloodraven still…" she started, until being cut off halfway by her brother.

"Oh, he no doubt still lingers about, trying to salvage what he can, and manipulating what he cannot. However, he lacks one critical aspect that the shadowed woman firmly holds in her grasp. He cannot go to that place…"

"What place?"

"A place I have never seen, yet know exists. The place where your friend, Jun, goes," he had closed the distance between them, the wind still whipping through his hair, and ruffling his black breeches and dark brown tunic.

"The Grove?" she specified, remembering Jun had oft spoken of the Grove of the Burning Tree and the others she would see and hold council with there. Jun's words on the extraordinary place had filled her with wonder, the pink buttermoth, and the talking twin snakes, but Bran seemed to think otherwise. _'Snakes!'_ she recalled the memory of Jun's tales on the argumentative serpents lurking in the Grove and looked to her brother. Bran's words on the twins had disturbed her enough to distract her mind from immediately linking the two, the twin snakes and her brother's stalkers, but now clear of mind, she knew she had to speak on her suspicions.

"Indeed," Bran replied, his words sounding somewhat hollow.

"Are they dangerous? The twins, I mean," she asked, knowing the idea of them distressed her brother, but not enough to have had him speak out of hate against them.

"Change is always dangerous, Arya. For you know not if the changes will be for good or ill," his weighted words sounded like some prophetic portent and not one of simple fact, as she assumed.

"But have they ever…" she led.

"Struck against me?" Bran shared a look with her, before returning his gaze to their northern destination. "No. They have had more than ample opportunity to end me, and have not done so."

Arya stared at him, hearing the silent _'yet'_ at the end of his words, but saying nothing.

"Though I wonder, given that I will fade in time, perhaps I am not of too much import?" her little brother surmised, a resigned smile awkwardly gracing his lips. "Whatever the case, I have seen them appearing at certain moments in time, not as people, but as animals. I have seen what they have changed, but not for what purpose. Are they following their 'mother's' will or some other agenda of their own? Nothing of what they have done has had an adverse effect on our family. That I could discern, at any rate. Indeed it has strengthened our family's position considerably. Contrary to what had befallen us before…"

"What have they changed? What happened before?" she wondered, the idea having bothered her far more than she had let on.

"You saw what happened before, and you saw how it changed," he answered, confusing her. Bran looked down and began slowing his speed, descending gradually to the ground below. She followed his descent, wondering what he meant, noting a large canyon laying only a short walk away from the landing point Bran was leading them towards. The second and third youngest Starks of Winterfell came to rest atop a clearing of dried, cracked, mud.

"I did?" she asked, unable to decipher the meaning of his words, staring at her brother's back. He remained silent a moment, looking out across the desolate landscape. The uncomfortably warm air swirled around them, causing desert demons to whip about in the distance like snakes of sand and dust.

"The visions you spoke of having when you first met me in the courtyard. The man with the wolf head? The King in the North? The vision of the girl, Ursa, and our brother?" He looked over his shoulder, a featureless frown lining his lips.

She shuddered, remembering the gruesome scene of the severed wolf head resting atop the bloodied corpse of the headless man. "Yes? What of it?"

"Do you know who the headless man was? Do you know why that came to be his fate?" a sad look came upon her brother's face, which was quickly replaced by one of anger and a deep simmering hatred.

She remained silent, going over her thoughts, before finally drawing a blank and answering him, "No."

Bran sighed, looking at her once more before staring out at their gods' forsaken surroundings. "Robb. It was Robb. He was betrayed…we all were."

A heaviness came upon her chest, her mind filled with flashes of Robb's smile and laughter, when she had thrown a spoonful of peas at Sansa, during the King's welcoming feast. Despite her developing good-conduct at Ursa's hands, she had been unable to help herself when she had spotted Sansa gossiping with Jeyne Poole and the others.

* * *

 _Jun and Brienne sat beside her, the smaller of whom had struggled to stifle her laughter when Robb came to take her to her quarters. Jon and Ursa were away, speaking with the Lady Azula at Jon's requests on becoming one of Ursa's sworn swords, and so had not been witnesses to the event. As she and Robb had reached the hall just outside of her room, her big brother's frown broke and he laughed, enveloping her in a crushing hug. "You mustn't do that again, little sister, mother was very cross…but by the old gods was it riotous!"_

* * *

"Who!?" she shouted, running up to Bran and tugging at his tunic. "Who was it?! What happened?!" she felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. "Tell me!"

"I cannot," he answered, eyes stubbornly looking away from her.

"Like the seven-hells you can't!" Arya screeched, her voice trembling in equal parts, horror, rage, and grief. She tugged harder, and glared at Bran, hating him in this instant for his secrecy.

"He cannot tell you," a voice slithered out of nowhere from up ahead. Arya darted her eyes forward, startled by the sudden voice and bringing them to rest upon a boy, as young as Rickon, holding hands with a long-haired girl of similar years. Both of the children bore manes of unnaturally black hair and matching icy golden eyes that held an eerie gaze upon her and Bran. They wore glossy silk tunics and leggings of black, which rippled in the sunlight, and stood barefooted on the parched earth. Identical pins depicting a burning iron skull with dragonglass encrusted eye sockets, and crimson flame rested along their left breasts.

"For it is not his place to say," the girl finished the peculiar boy's words.

"You will discover the truth yourself," both the children spoke in unison now, their words having a monotonous quality that unnerved her. "Once you traverse the foggy canyons and the maze of tangled trees below."

"She is not ready for the canyons," Bran protectively placed his arm out in front of her.

The twins shared a look of confusion with each other, then turned their attentions back to Arya and Bran. "And you brought her here still?"

"To learn a much-needed lesson," Bran countered. The light of the sun blazed above, elongating her shadow and causing her to realize that neither Bran nor the twins had held shadows of their own.

"In what?" The twins radiated a cold indifference and retained their flat sing-song tone, even amongst the sweltering gusts that blew around them.

"Family," her brother stated, his voice sounding resolute and ironclad. "So she does not lose her way as I almost did."

"Bloodraven's methods are not our methods," the twins' words turned melancholic, though no less uniform. "Nor are they our mother's, Brandon Stark, so do not confuse the two."

"I know well what your methods are," Bran's eyes grew cold.

"Do not act as if the bastard's mauling was not to your satisfaction. It certainly was to ours, the taste and feel of his blood dripping from our teeth, ever remains our greatest of memories," the twins continued on, licking their lips as they did so. "His death was necessary to secure our line, and yours. Or would you have preferred he had lived and caused the havoc you know his continued life would have brought to your family? Or perhaps you even still possess a lingering hatred for his father, our father's grandfather, and what he did to your brother?"

 _'Bastard?'_ Arya regretted thinking of the word and associating it with Jon, but she shook with worry at its utterance and grew angry. She was angry at being talked around and concerned that Jon was part of something that would cause his death. "You leave Jon out of this!"

"Jon?" the children twitched their eyebrows, seemingly surprised at her sudden outburst. "Oh! Jon Snow," the twins shared a laugh that sounded eerily reminiscent of the Lady Azula. "Do not be silly, Arya Stark. Jon Snow will live a long boring life with his short boring wife. We have no interest in him." Once their piece with her was done they went back to addressing Bran, as if her outburst had never even occurred. "Our mother has expended much needed time and energy to keep you from fading. Time and energy that she could have utilized elsewhere against the great other, or the dark spirit, or even the black emperor. Neither of whom has this world's best interests in mind, let alone either of our family's. So we do not have the luxury of wasting time on fruitless endeavours, and pointless bickering, lest the changes we have made lose their permanency, and your family finds itself back on the wrong side."

"We won in the end," her brother pointed out.

"True enough, but at what cost?"

Bran remained silent.

"Time is of the essence, Brandon Stark, prepare her for the canyons as soon as possible," the twins stated with a certain finality. Golden eyes held a disquieting gaze upon her and Bran, before the children hunched over, turned black as pitch, and melted into the ground.

Arya had no words for what she had just seen and suddenly found herself waking up in a cold sweat, strewn across her small bed in her moonlit chambers. Nymeria was at her side watching the left end of her room intently, a low snarl emanating deep within Nymeria's furry throat. She noticed a large shadow moving along the stone floor and turned to look in the direction her direwolf faced, identifying the source of the shadow as she did so. There, perched upon the sill of her small window, was a solitary black hawk, pecking and pulling away strips of flesh from something beneath its feet. A soft breeze whistled in, causing a black object to detach from the lifeless form beneath the hawk. The thing floated in her direction, and with a deft hand, she caught it mid-flight, revealing it to be a crow's feather. Looking back had revealed nothing but an empty window with a crow's entrails resting upon the cold, stone sill. Nymeria whined and snuggled closer.

Arya suddenly grew very aware that the cotton sheets from Dragonstone, covering her body, were soaking wet and freezing to the touch. She flung them aside, shivering as she did so, and grasped at several unused pillows, furs, and sheets from her bedside.

Nymeria's head and ears perked up, and she bounded off the bed, likely wondering what her master was doing.

Arya threw the collection of bed stuff upon the floor, in a heap, near the head of her bed. She crouched down, looking under her bed, and measured the space with her eyes. She positioned the cushions underneath and lay the fresh sheets over them, as best she could. The small crawlspace was scarcely enough to allow her or Nymeria room to manoeuvre, but somehow she had managed, even though her constant shivering and chattering teeth had almost made it unbearable. After setting up her makeshift cot, she finally grabbed at the spare furs and snuggled in with Nymeria, hidden safely under her bed and humming the song that gave her the most comfort during her sleepless nights.

 _'Gaze upon the sea…'_ she trembled, holding Nymeria's head close to her face, wanting to forget what she had seen. What she had heard.

 _'Past the clouds of tempest ill.'_

 _'To the east,'_ her eyes watered with ice-cold tears.

 _'Where the saviour of promised hope comes…'_

* * *

Note: From here on out, Arya's chapters will only have the year, not the exact date.


	66. (The Wall) Viserys III

(The Wall: Castle Black 10/13/298) Viserys III

The cold winds swept over him, caressing his shivering body in its frosty embrace, as he sat atop his small wooden stool. Even with the small fire set next to him, he could scarcely feel its warmth, and only felt the chattering of his teeth. He looked up to the watching moon, its blue form partially hidden behind encroaching dark clouds. Its soft azure light rested just above the faint orange glow of his small fire, and in the twilight, he saw great wisps of his hot breath dance in the air. Bundled up as he was in furs and leathers, Viserys Targaryen was a man most at home in the heat of the south, and he had never gotten used to the constant cold, but he endured for he had no other choice.

"Princeling! I'm here to relieve you," Waymar Royce shouted from down the way, startling him out of his thoughts. Coming from near the lift that brought Viserys' fellow black-brothers up to the Wall's snow-laden summit, the young man's voice quivered slightly in the deepening cold.

"Over here!" he replied, without looking in the direction of his friend's voice, the nickname and all variations therein having brought him some measure of annoyance as a reminder of his royal past. A strange chill brushed through the icy trench in which he sat overlooking the Haunted Forest with an equally stone-cold resolve. He brooded over Bloodraven's words, and quietly fumed at the lack of information the library of Castle Black had bequeathed unto him. He knew now that the Citadel of Old Town was his best bet and the only source of knowledge close enough wherein he could hope to find any answers of import. However, the Lord Commander and his grand-uncle had frustratingly not yet brought forth a reply to Viserys' request on joining the Order.

"No answer yet?" Waymar questioned as he sat on an empty stool, by his side, clad in his black collection of ring mail, boiled leathers, wool, and sable cloak. One look into Royce's grey eyes had assured Viserys that his friend asked in genuine curiosity, though some unknown emotion had been hidden within.

"No," he answered, turning back to look out into the forest far down below.

"Well, I'm sure they will come to their senses, and _not_ let you go out to join the Citadel." He shot a look towards his brother and saw a ghost of a smile on his face. "What?" Waymar chuckled incredulously, grey eyes suddenly revealing the mirth he had hidden away behind his eyes. "You are the ablest swordsman in the bloody Watch, right up there with the Halfhand and Ser Alliser. Some say you are even as good as Ser Barristan himself! So what business have you wasting your talents down there with all those rickety old men, learning about what causes a man to shit, or piss, or sleep?"

"I have my reasons, Royce," he growled, though not out of anger to his brother, but out of the fact that he felt the same, and only Brynden's words had given him a reason not to.

"Oh really? Care to share?" the thin carpet of ice crunched underneath Waymar's feet as he moved to look at him.

"You wouldn't believe me if I did," Viserys warned, afraid it would be taken as Targaryen madness, instead of the truth. As much as his granduncle had assured him that he was not, he still did not take lightly to wild stories, even if he personally knew them to be true.

"Try me," Waymar's eyes focused on his own as if trying to will him to speak.

"No," he replied simply, remaining steadfast in his position of silence on the matter.

"Bah! You never kept secrets before, why now? What happened out there while we were separated, hmm?" Royce pushed.

 _'I've kept far too many secrets,'_ he wanted to laugh at the irony of Waymar's words but held his tongue. "Perhaps being near death shook me more than I thought it would?" he supplied a lie he thought believable enough. "Besides, even if I was as capable as Qhorin or Alliser, or was even the Dragonknight come again, we both know nothing happens beyond the wall anymore. Save snowstorms and the lot. Not for years now, Royce. _Years._ What use is swordsmanship against a damned blizzard and being frozen alive? If I have no enemies to use my skills on, then might as well sharpen my mind. The battle against ignorance is always being fought."

Royce squinted in suspicion then withdrew. "Hmph," he snorted. "Now you are starting to sound like that Dragonstone boy. Gods' damned know-it-all thinks he has an answer for everything."

He blinked, "Sho-Yu?"

"Whatever his name, that boy is a trifle arrogant," his black-brother continued, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"How? He rarely speaks to others," Viserys questioned, having never felt belittled by the boy during their conversations, few as they were.

"Oh, I know, but the few times I have had the _honour_ of speaking with that little shit, it always felt like he was talking _down_ to me."

"Haha," He couldn't help but laugh.

Waymar looked to him with narrowed eyes. "Find something funny, do you?"

"Yes. I've seen you speak to others in such a way, especially new recruits and even some of the veterans," He answered. "I'm fairly certain that I've heard the same things said of you."

"Point them out to me you ponce, and I'll have at them!" the Valeman held out clenched fists.

"Well," he chuckled. "The first would be the Dragonstone boy. Then me, then around half of the black brothers who have met you."

"Pfft. Whatever the boy's faults, do not confuse my dislike of him for dislike of Dragonstone. I appreciate the food, especially those 'fire flake' things, they certainly warm you up. Oh, and the clothing, of course, but from what I have seen so far of the people from there…" the grey-eyed young man lingered on his words, grimacing as he did so. "Well, they leave much to be desired. He and his guards are intolerable, as was that Paege girl from before."

He disregarded the fact that he himself had come from Dragonstone, but had refrained from pointing it out to the Valeman. Instead, his thoughts remembered the young girl and the actions he took in her defense. Her words, the day before she departed for Dragonstone, had remained with him and for whatever reason, he could not divine, it had made him feel worth something to someone other than his granduncle.

 _"Thank you,"_ her voice had lacked the confidence it had held before, and at that moment he saw the look in her eyes. A look of pure innocence, one that reminded him that she was merely a scared little girl living in a harsh world.

As soon as the memory entered his mind, his heart wrenched. The burning reminder that he had a sister, just as young as the Paege girl, out there tore at him. A sister who was likely just as scared, and surrounded by those who would do her harm. Soon enough the dragon stirred.

"With all the knowledge they supposedly have at the Academy, you would think humility to be one of the lessons taught?"

"Humility!?" he hissed, rising from his small wooden seat. "The girl did not need to learn that lesson, Royce!"

"That was not my intent, I…" the third and youngest son of Lord Yohn Royce backpedaled, his eyes bulging out in realization. "I only meant that…" he stumbled out along his words and found no purchase.

"I know well what you meant," Viserys cut in, looking down and towering over the still sitting form of his black-brother, "but that does not make it sound any less infuriating."

"Viserys…" Waymar started, but Viserys was in no mood to have him continue trying to conjure up a proper reply.

"Say nothing, Royce," he glared at the younger man from the Vale. "You are an ass who doesn't think before he speaks. However," he exhaled, "you have given me an idea, and you have my gratitude for it." The warning had been clearly heard, for a look of shame had come upon Waymar's young face. Though his praise had been honest, the Valeman's thoughts seemed too entangled with the reprimand.

Waymar frowned and looked away, slender cheeks tensed in disgrace. "What do you mean?" he finally asked, before returning his gaze, relaxing his face as he did so.

"The woman's people _are_ quite learned," Viserys let the statement hang in the air, almost forgetting his surroundings as he paced. The fiery anger subsided as quickly as it appeared, washed away in the conundrum of how to broach to the subject of the Others and the supposed monster stalking the Lady Azula's youngest daughter with the boy from Dragonstone. _'Without sounding mad,'_ he noted.

"Hmmm," he turned to Waymar, remembering the man had come to relieve him. "Did you encounter the Yi-Tish boy on your way here?"

"No, but I broke words with Will and he spoke of seeing the boy's guards lingering near the library," Royce called to mind.

"Strange," Viserys paused, having never recalled actually seeing the boy spend much time within the library since his arrival, though his granduncle had spoken otherwise. "He usually secludes himself in his quarters with his own books from Dragonstone. What is he doing in the library at this hour?"

"Haven't the foggiest," the grey-eyed man supplied, as he scuttled closer to the small fire which twirled along with the irregular chilly wind.

"Hmmm. Well, thank you anyways," he looked to Waymar and nodded. "I will take my leave," Viserys turned on his heel and made for the lift. "Keep warm, Royce, and don't let your foot live in your mouth!" he shouted, waving back to the Valeman, his thoughts focused elsewhere.

Waymar muttered a reply that was lost in the howling wind.

As he stalked towards the lift, a hulking form appeared in the narrow expanse, walking calmly down along the trench. The fully-armored form of the Dragonstone guard was unmistakable and he seemed in no rush to join him on the wooden contraption.

"Hail!" he shouted, waving to the man in the distance, before pausing a moment. The large man in Dragonstone plate displayed no reaction nor any type of signal. "Hail!" he cried once more, louder than the first. The man, helmeted as he was, seemed confused, having instead chosen to stop dead in his tracks. They watched each other silently from afar as the winds wailed, pelting them both with fine bits of snow that cut across Viserys' unarmored face like glass.

"Fu…k..g…W..n..d!" He heard Waymar's unintelligible cursing resonating from where he had come.

Moving his right arm to shield his head, the former Prince of the Seven Kingdoms stared at the armoured juggernaut, as he jerked his helmeted head to the side and stared out into the vast forest north of the wall. Feeling a tug at his senses, Viserys drew his eyes away from the strange man and looked out over the forested horizon. Long did he gaze, but after spotting nothing of interest, he turned back and saw the Dragonstone guard still looking out, whatever hints of confusion having all but disappeared. Seeming more like a statue of steel and flesh, than a mere man, the silent giant grew ever more imposing against the whiteness of the low trench.

 _'Kee-eeeee-arr!'_

A sudden shrill call cut through the violent winds and startled him, causing him to whirl his head this way and that, searching for its mysterious source. In the paleness above he spotted a lone black figure gliding along the turbulent winds, circling the sky above as if the windstorm had been nothing more than a calm sea breeze. The figure dove down through the whirling icy mist and came to rest upon the armoured man's shoulder, revealing itself as an enormous black hawk with smoldering golden eyes that he immediately likened to the woman of Dragonstone.

 _"_ Azula," he whispered to no one but himself and was surprised when the perched shadow turned at his hushed words. It glared at him with the same intensity the woman had when she had cleaved through the royal fleet after he had been taken prisoner aboard her iron ship all those years ago. Viserys could not help but stare back, mesmerized by the burning orbs as they searched for something he could not fathom, but after a moment the bird seemed to lose interest and shrugged if one could imagine such a thing coming from a hawk. It continued looking outward towards the forest, and Viserys shook his head. "No, that's impossible."

The man continued his silent vigil alongside the feathered phantom, both of whom had given no inclination towards immediate distraction, save the bird's fleeting moment of apparent recognition with himself. Viserys finally turned and headed for the lift, a slight shiver running down his spine as he did so. The wooden thing creaked and moaned as he stood upon its sturdy, if old, oaken base. The winches and pulleys accompanied the whining wood with tired noises of their own, and together they shifted and sang, signaling his long descent.

The descent proved far more illuminating than he had originally anticipated. Bloodraven's warnings aside, he found himself thinking more on the Lady of Dragonstone. She had been the final nail in the coffin of Targaryen rule, and even without the boiling resentment her meddling had caused him to feel, he could not help but think.

 _'What if? What if she had appeared at King's Landing? Or Dragonstone? Would she have been enough to save us?'_ he wondered as he looked south, atop a far too slowly descending lift. All these questions he would ask himself and always the answer was the same. _'Yes.'_ Of all things he remembered of her, her cruelty and monstrous nature were seared into his mind. He had seen it, and as shameful it was to admit, Viserys had long ago come to realize that his father had been the same. _'They would have gotten along well,'_ he let out a bitter laugh. _'Would that the gods have sent her to us instead of the usurper? She would have saved us, and I could have my sister at my side. Azula would have crushed that damned traitor, Tywin Lannister, when he came into the city and smashed the rebel forces as they marched to the capital,'_ he clenched his hands at the thought. _'Though, what would she have done after? Would she and father have made a mockery of the seven, and commanded Elia to be set aside so a new bride could be given to Rhaegar? Or,'_ Viserys scoffed, correcting himself, remembering the woman's aggressive nature _, 'so Rhaegar could be given to her?'_ He lingered on the thought a moment, before realizing what would likely have happened. His body nearly retched at the thought as it whispered venomously into his ear. _'She would have wanted me, in order to mould me into something I am not…'_ He looked at his hands, as they rested along the wooden railing of the lift, and cleared his apprehension of the imaginary scenario. "It wouldn't have mattered," he came to realize, his whisper lost to the wind, "as long as she was safe. Daenerys."

 _'Thunk!'_ the lift shook, as it hit solid ground.

He swung the wooden railing open and set off down the steps, turning left, and passing the sole guard whose name he did not know. The man was covered in furs and the air around him smelt of Dragonstone firewater, _'Huangjiu,'_ he recalled the name of the far too strong drink. Faint laughter could be heard coming from the common hall to his left, where a warm orange light seeped out from under the closed wooden doors. He passed beneath the shadow of the Hardin Tower, eerily cast by the blue moon, and took the old stone steps downwards into the vaults where the library lay in virtually silent company. Coming to the foot of the steps, he peered down the dimly lit corridor and heard drops of water echoing throughout the musty ancient hall. At the far end of the passage, past the four low-burning torch stands and single wooden chair, he spied the two skull-faced Dragonstone guards that Will had supposedly seen earlier, engaged in quiet conversation. He stepped forward, heading towards them with sure purpose, noticing the door to the library being slightly ajar.

"So what about the tanks?" one asked the other, both keenly aware that he had been present, but ignoring him just the same. "Think Lia will hit a breakthrough soon?"

"I doubt it," the other replied, his voice scratchy and coarse. "It's been years since the Fire Lord set her to the task, and she has yet to produce meaningful results."

"How long do you think before she does?"

"Hopefully soon," the rough-voiced one answered.

As he drew closer, he noted the torches at the two men's sides burning brighter than the others. It was then that the raspy one spoke to him. "Halt!" he set his palm forward. "What business brings you here gaijin?"

"I am here to speak with Sho-Yu, your charge," he countered respectfully.

The man looked at him, and beyond the black pits of his skull-helm, a sliver of gold twinkled in the torchlight.

"Let him in, Jah-Qin," a soft voice uttered from beyond the partially open door.

Jah-Qin stared at him a long moment before he lowered his hand and his already scratchy voice. "Yes, sir," he answered, moving aside, but grabbing his arm as he walked past. "Tread lightly, Targaryen."

* * *

The old wooden door creaked open and down the aisle of shelves filled with dusty tomes, scrolls, and books, he saw the young Yi-Tish boy, sitting alone at the center of the library with a trio of lanterns burning brightly at his side. A large stack of assorted books, some opened, and others not, surrounded the young man, along with a small teapot over a soft flame. Sho-Yu had not looked up and had appeared to be studiously writing down notes into a large, leather-bound, book with golden corners. As he grew closer he noted several of the books as having been ones he had read himself, concerning the Long Night and the Others. His hairs stood on end, as he reached down and pulled out a chair opposite the boy from Dragonstone. When he moved to sit, the boy placed a golden ribbon within the pages and shut his book.

A slight hint of annoyance was etched across Sho-Yu's youthful, if heavily foreign, features as he reached for a small shiny red cup beside the teapot. The boy lifted the small wooden handle of the teapot and poured himself a serving of the, still steaming, exotic leaf juice, before placing it back down. The boy sipped at his beverage while keeping a free hand just beneath the small ceramic container.

"Is this another social call, Targaryen? As you can see, I am quite busy," Sho-Yu's golden eyes glanced upwards from the bottom of the shiny cup and he shifted his hand, revealing a black teardrop flame emblazoned across its side. He set the cup aside and rested his arms protectively across the leather bound book, staring him straight in the eyes and awaiting an answer.

"Not as such," he relaxed within his hard wooden seat as best he could. "I was," he looked toward the familiar stack of books, "coming to speak on the Long Night and the Others."

"Oh," the boy's eyes narrowed and he began tapping his fingers across the book's spine. "And what makes you think I have an interest in such topics?"

"Other than the books I have found you buried in, nothing whatsoever," he kept his face straight, watching as Sho-Yu looked down and pursed his lips. The flames swayed slightly in the nonexistent wind, and he suspected why that was.

"Leave the humor to the fools, Targaryen," the boy almost smirked lifting his eyes once more.

"And leave the stern expressions to the adults, Yu," he chuckled, mentally wiping off the sweat that had formed on his brow. _'This might be easier than I thought!'_

"Hmph," the Yi-Tish boy snorted. "So, what revelations have you uncovered during your previous foray into these early records?" he gestured towards a book with partially rotten edges, it's complete degradation only being kept in check by the utter cold of the library. "And don't act surprised. I know you had been down here the past few nights, and seeing as the books before me have noticeably less dust on them than the rest, this leaves me to surmise that they had been the objects of your attentions while you had been down here."

"Nothing springs to mind," he retorted, brushing off the shock. "Though I will say that after the first few books, you should learn all you need to. The Others came south with armies of the dead and laid waste to everything below the neck…"

"Where thousands died, frozen in their homes, in the fields, and so on," the young Dragonstone boy waved his hand contemptuously at the summary. "I've heard this story before and that's all these accursed books tell me of the subject. Stories like that were a silver a dozen in the old world. I need _facts_ , not stories. Bah! Maybe the detachment sent to the Citadel will be met with success?" Sho muttered the last under his breath.

"That was _before_ being pushed back into the far north…" he continued, hoping to dissuade the boy from dismissing the accounts completely, though he had made note of there being Dragonstone numbers in Old Town.

"By some supposed _hero_ , I hear?" the sarcasm dripped freely from Sho-Yu's words. "And this 'Bran the Builder' constructed the Wall," the boy scoffed. "Yes, I've heard those. Madness, I tell you. As if I would believe a tribe of wild men could build something like this?" Sho-Yu looked at their surroundings to emphasize the point. "My predecessors read as such and reported them as nothing more than the fanciful tales of primitive peoples. Or would have, had this damned monstrosity of a construction hadn't been here. We have yet to explain the nature and origins of the Wall to my Fire Lord's satisfaction."

"And what if the Wall hadn't been here?" he wondered.

"Then we wouldn't be here," the Dragonstone child presented a look of indifference as he shrugged. "The Fire Lord would not have wasted men and materials here had this been some reasonably-sized barrier against simple barbarians. But no, this is a wall that rivals only one other. And that wall firmly resides within the old world, held by long hated enemies. The thought that our old enemies had followed us made the Fire Lord grow cautious enough about it to warrant an investigation. She is not one to disregard any threat to her people or the Seven-Kingdoms, no matter how unlikely."

"So your Lady Azula believes there is truth to the tales?" He couldn't help but give the Lady of Dragonstone some small measure of respect for her supposed stalwart defense of the Seven-Kingdoms. But even so, he knew better than to take her 'charity' at face-value. The boy remained silent, golden-eyes looking him up and down.

"Not as much as you appear to," Sho-Yu squinted. "Have you something to say?"

"You wish for facts, and I can offer none. But if you still care to hear, I would oblige the request." he reared forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table and enmeshing his fingers.

"What do I have to lose?" he sighed, waving for him to continue.

"What if I told you that I was warned on the return of the Others?" Viserys looked to the young man as he crossed his arms and reclined his body along the chair. The apathetic attitude had given him pause before a nagging feeling at the back of his mind urged him on.

 _'Tell him,'_ a faint voice whispered to him, though whether it had been of a man or woman, he could not discern over the suddenly loud popping of the fireplace near the end of the library.

"Oh? And who was this mysterious informant?" Sho-Yu lifted a brow, unshaken by the noises of the flame.

"A man from my history. A relative of maester Aemon and I. His name was, _is_ , Brynden Rivers. Also known to some as Lord Bloodraven. He was a former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, several decades ago, while Maester Aemon was young."

The boy rested his palm across the side of his neck, bored eyes locked on to his as he spoke. "And I assume Maester Aemon can confirm this?"

"He can," Viserys responded, hopeful that he might be able to get through to Dragonstone after all.

Sho-Yu frowned, a knowing frown it looked like to Viserys. "And I assume he can also explain how exactly a hundred-or-so-year-old man can survive out there, _alone_ , in that frozen wasteland?"

"Well, he wasn't alone…" Viserys searched the boy's golden irises for something, anything that would show this wasn't some elaborate jest of his, but found naught but boredom dusted with a soft twinkle of intrigue. "He had numerous children of the forest assisting him."

Sho-Yu coughed. "You mean the little people who lived in the trees?"

"Yes," he winced.

The boy reclined even further, tilting his chair on its back legs, bringing his arms down across his belly, and resting his feet on the table, though taking care to avoid the books. "And where did you meet them?"

"Somewhere along the foot of several great Weirwood trees, a child of the forest led me to a cleft in the hillside, though I do not remember much more of my surroundings. The sudden blizzard had denied me clear viewing of anything more than an arm's length away. That said, I did eventually find myself within a cave surrounded by other children, its dark paths were littered with animal bones and the like."

"Did you perhaps think of bringing one with you?" Sho-Yu questioned.

"What? The bones?"

"No, you fool, a child of the forest."

He narrowed his eyes, "I was a little distracted by the absurdity of the situation at the time."

"Hmph, whatever. Continue," the boy motioned, then interlaced his fingers across his stomach, a shadowed look overcoming the previously indifferent expression.

"I was led along a dark tunnel by one of the children named 'Leaf' until I came upon a cavern with a deep pit. A sole rocky bridge stretched across the chasm where I was met by Ser Brynden and the unconscious forms of my brothers," Sho-Yu's face remained unmoved, though Viserys felt the heat of the room change to some degree.

"And what did he tell you?"

"He warned me of the Others," he moved closer, feeling a sudden urge to whisper the word. Above their heads, he heard the soft whistling of the cold winds. "He told me to warn your Fire Lord of the Others and to cease entering…" he hesitated, not knowing what the words, 'the place where the gods roam,' would mean to the boy.

"Cease? Cease what?" Sho-Yu leaned in, abandoning his former uninterested demeanor.

"To cease entering the place where the gods roam," he blurted out, refusing to think on it more should he find his mind changed.

The Yi-Tish boy withdrew, eyes turning sharp as knives, though he remained silent.

"He spoke of it alerting the Great Other, causing it to move in unpredictable ways," Sho-Yu's young face assumed a very guarded, very dark, countenance that appeared to age him in the flickering candlelight. The expression changed to one of urgency when Viserys uttered his next words. "He said it wanted the Lady Azula's youngest child…"

The candles flared brightly, and the boy stood up. "Can you find your way back to this cave?"

"I do not know, I can find where we were before the blizzard came upon us, but not the precise location of the cave," he replied at Sho-Yu's unexpected question and rose up with him.

"You'll have to do better than that," Sho-Yu came to face him, standing a head shorter than himself, but appearing far larger from the shadows cast against the bookshelves and stone wall. "Tomorrow I will petition the Lord Commander to organize another ranging past the wall where you and your brothers were last. If he declines, then _we_ will go."

"We?" he was confused.

"Yes, you will be coming with us. Mormont owes Dragonstone more than he thinks, and to deny a formal request from Dragonstone, without providing a compromise, would be an ill move indeed. However, the compromise would be simple, one he could not deny," the formerly young face had grown hard and cold as stone.

"That I accompany you," Viserys realized.

"Yes, and if your assistance awards us success in determining the true threat from those ancient creatures, then who knows what kind of reward the Fire Lord would have awaiting you?" the piercing molten pools burned into him.

 _'Daenerys,'_ he thought, then recalled Bloodraven's words, _"Do not seek this place out, and purge it from your memory forever."_

"The Bloodraven did not wish me to go back," Viserys warned the boy from Dragonstone.

"The Fire Lord does not care what Bloodraven ' _wishes,_ ' she cares about what he ' _knows_ ,'" Sho-Yu replied. "Guards!" he barked.

The two men, from outside the doors, burst into the library at the sudden shout. "Sir?" they searched the room and appeared confused.

"Help me put these books away, then I must go to my chambers to meditate," the men saluted with palm over fist and set about putting things in order. Sho-Yu shot a look towards him, before taking him by the arm, pulling him towards a nearby bookshelf. "I trust I need not explain why we did not just have this conversation?"

"Because we would sound like madmen?" he answered, knowing precisely what the boy was implying. Viserys would sound like a madman, but the boy would not, for Sho-Yu would not speak on it unless the Lady Azula had commanded it. And he was unsure whether or not she would command it, for she was ' _the Butcher of Shipbreaker Bay,_ ' and she was unpredictable.

"Exactly," the boy responded.


	67. (Dragonstone) Mai VI

(Dragonstone: 10/16/298) Mai VI

"So how do you plan to tell him of the creature? Don't tell me you intend to bring him down here to see it for himself?" she asked, her voice echoing out throughout the twisted, serrated confines of the depressing grotto. She heard the begging cries of grown men and the low moans of dying ones, following them up from somewhere behind the way. The sharp _snap_ of a lashing whip rang out, silencing a few of the pitiable sounds.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, though more than just Eddard Stark will be joining us down here," Azula answered without breaking stride. Steffon followed closely, at Azula's side, in pensive silence, his armor softly 'chinking' as he walked. Their footsteps and those of the Kermurikage following closely behind were the only sounds in proximity, though Mai thought on how the screams from before seemed closer still. As they approached the mouth of the newly excavated cavern, the sounds evaporated out into the surrounding blackness of the large crevasse before them. This was the only place on the island where shards of obsidian lay open and free, amongst the cold volcanic rock, which was not covered up with smooth carved stone. Small satchels of blasting jelly had been used to open up the formerly small cave into a hollow capable of hiding several cruisers. Though how many exactly, she knew not, with only a few torches lining the nearby walls, the lighting within the caverns had not been ample enough to see the furthest edges of the subterranean cavity. She knew Dragonstone had enough blasting jelly squirreled away to level a mountain, a stockpile that grew with each passing turn of the moon, and yet Mai had found it increasingly strange that Azula appeared in no rush to use most of it.

"Wait, wha…" Mai began.

"Oh," before she could finish her reply, Azula snapped her fingers, cutting her off. "I forgot to thank you for the show you gave us on the docks. Very nice, very ordered. Tight formation and freshly pressed uniforms, adding the Tyrell girl to the welcoming committee was a nice touch. And it was a joy hugging my little flame and pressing her chubby cheeks together. Though she did seem a bit…" Azula shook her head, then cleared her throat. "I trust no one gave you issues during its planning?"

"No, other than Han complaining about the dock not being presentable," she sighed, eyeing their dark surroundings, the faint torchlight up ahead cast a pale azure glow along the top of the seemingly undulating cave. She kept a mental note concerning her previous line of questioning regarding the additional guests coming down to see the creature in the box. "I personally think he was trying to hide his progress on 'the Azula."

"Yes, so I would assume," she paused, watching as Azula cast a knowing look in her direction. "Oh don't look so surprised, I've heard the rumors of delays," Azula continued forward, none the worse for wear, nor showing signs that she had been particularly annoyed with the unfortunate setback. "I'll have to find new ways to _motivate_ Han and his men. He continues breathing because of Lia's successes, despite his mistrust of her. And yes, I know her successes are minor, but they are successes none the less, and with the tanks that much closer to finalization, we will have far more bargaining chips once the dust settles…" the words held a certain ominous tone that caused a shiver to run up Mai's spine. "Speaking of which," she turned to her son, still following silently. "What do your friends think they saw on the docks? Did they believe Mai's explanations about it being a brindled man from Sothoryos?"

"They did," Steffon said finally, though he seemed hesitant in his words. "I did not like lying to them, mother."

"It's only temporary until Lord Stark learns it from me, after that you can tell them whatever you wish," she waved off his concern, and they continued along their murky little path.

Mai sensed the beginnings of an awkward silence and chose to continue on from before. "Who else will you bring here?"

"Why do you ask? Does it trouble you?" her friend probed but did not turn to face her.

"Why wouldn't it?" Steffon surprised her, taking the words right out of her mouth. "You're a very private person, mother."

"True enough," she chuckled. "If it makes you both feel any better, I did have second thoughts before making my final decision aboard the ship," Azula shrugged, her uniform having shifted slightly with her movements as she came to rest her hands across her lower back.

"So who else?" Mai pressed, looking down at her feet to confirm she had proper footing for the area ahead.

"Other than Stark," a smooth fist rose up, and Azula counted, raising a finger with each name spoken. "Prince Oberyn, a Red Priest named Moqorro, and a smattering of Martell and Stark guards whose names I don't care to know."

"Hmm, I had suspected Moqorro, but not Oberyn or his guards. Is that wise?" Steffon asked, his calm smooth voice sounding out of place within the darkness of the caverns. "Wouldn't a slight bit more tact be preferable, than just hauling them all down here to look at a monster?"

Mai heard water drip down from somewhere out in the blackness as their small party hugged the rocky walkway. Sharp pillars rose from the black depths and gnashed against those descending from the jagged ceiling, giving the cave an uncomfortable quality reminiscent of a gaping maw.

"You would think so, but men like Stark are predisposed to hard truths, Steffon, and if he feels that I was being open with the others as well, then...Well, let's just say that events would be better 'directed' with this nugget of information making the rounds in the seven-kingdoms. Coming from the honorable Eddard Stark would have been sufficient, but from a Prince of Dorne as well? The war with the Lannisters would be over far more quickly if Tywin's lickspittles have to worry about a second long night. Not to mention increasing support from Volantis after their priest reports back that I have their 'great enemy' caged up and under my power," she lingered on her words a moment then moved on. "After the lions are completely swept off the board, I will _'encourage'_ Robert to choose Stannis as the new Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. After all, there is no one more loyal, more steadfast, then he, save Lord Stark, and Stark would not wish the position for any of his family. We proved our mettle in destroying the Targaryen loyalists here and eroding any lingering support for them. The Westerlands would be no different. Sure, there would be many more executions, more headaches, but our people need space to grow and prosper. Dragonstone is becoming too small, and Lyanna's Bay is too remote to ever house more than a hundred thousand people, at best," the shadows danced across Azula's grinning visage, as they were wont to do. Steffon's golden eyes seemed contemplative in the gloom cast by Azula's shadow.

"Why didn't you bring Qyburn?" she questioned, noticing the man's absence the moment Azula had stepped foot back on Dragonstone. "I would have thought the man leaping for joy at the prospect of having a mythical creature to study."

"Oh, he was. You can be sure of that," a slight frown slithered along Azula's lips. "However, I do not trust Pycelle or any of the healers in the capital. If anyone is harmed while I am away, I wish Qyburn to treat them, and no one else."

"You still suspect the Grand Maester had something to do with Jon Arryn?" she asked, her hands resting along her back, mirroring Azula's stance.

"I do not _suspect_ , Mai. I _know_. Though to what end and in what capacity elude me," Azula countered. "The information Qyburn gathered from Arryn's corpse before it was sent away, indicated a poison had a hand in his deterioration. 'Tears of Lys,' he called it. Arryn's Maester had diagnosed and treated him appropriately. So well, in fact, that Arryn even managed to share a few words with Renly, or so that fop tells me, but then that old bearded fool took over and the man died soon thereafter. I was _this_ close," her golden eyes burned in the cerulean gloom as she pinched her fingers together, "to purging the capital of Cersei and her ilk."

"Once Stark finds out the truth there's no stopping that eventuality," Steffon noted.

"The _truth_ ," Azula scoffed. "Yes, what a wondrously fortuitous truth, that makes Cersei hand her own death sentence to me on a silver platter."

"I sense a bit of sarcasm," Mai frowned.

"Cersei's too stupid and too impatient to poison anyone. The fact that she chose to have blond-haired bastards and expected to pass them off as Robert's speaks volumes of her mentality," Azula continued, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "She prefers the upfront approach. So, I suspect Pycelle having finished a job someone else had started. Jon Arryn was careful once his investigations began, I made sure of that, and he only ever let his guard down around his family."

"It couldn't be his son, the boy is young and sickly. Which leaves…" she couldn't hide her rising shock, understated as it was, given her melancholic disposition.

"His wife? Yes," Steffon's silken voice interjected, as they walked, his hand firmly grasping at a golden-hilted longsword strapped to his side.

"A definite possibility," Azula answered. "Especially given her prior relationship with Baelish. Though the only snag is that Baelish owes everything to Arryn for his rise in status," she growled, as a blue flame engulfed her clenched hand. "That title should have been mine," the sapphire blaze burn brightly for a moment before receding back into Azula's closed fist, "though I suppose 'Mistress of Whisperers' sounds far better than 'Mistress of Coin.' 'Mistress of Coin' makes me sound like some sort of harlot queen."

"It could also have been Varys," she supplied.

"The Spider is always a suspect, Overseer," the young knight's even voice declared. "Especially since we have yet to discover what precisely the eunuch was discussing with the cheesemonger. Baelish's words did not give a definitive answer."

"Whatever it was," Azula added, looking to her. "Stork managed to elicit a reaction, however slight, from Varys when he was in that ridiculous costume. But whatever the case," she shook her head, dismissing further talk on Varys. "Whoever was truly behind Arryn's murder, I will discover them, and I will end them. I don't like being played, no matter how tantalizing the prize. However, for the time being, I'll play along in order to smoke out our little rat. Cersei is both the most 'obvious' suspect, and by far the one I want to be most rid of," a menacing giggle escaped Azula's lips. "Once Stark and the others have gathered their bearings, I will take them for a tour of the Academy, so they can 'discover' things."

"Robert's bastards?" Mai knew of them, had watched and kept track of them, under Azula's orders, as soon as they had arrived in the months following Jon Arryn's death.

"That's one of them," a ghost of a smile came across Azula's face, then disappeared in the darkness like an errant shadow. "I trust you have seen to it that the students and instructors are to treat the day like any other?"

"Of course," she nodded, watching as the open cavern once again narrowed, transforming into a gloomy tunnel leading into the darker confines of the underground tunnel system where the strange Westrosi creature lay imprisoned. The torches had steadily been growing dimmer, though had retained their blue hue as Azula passed. An odd coldness had seeped under her skin, and she shivered. Sparing a glance towards her friend, Mai spied no hint of discomfort.

"What do you plan to say?" her curiosity slipped through.

Azula laughed her false laugh, and looked to her, a soft smile across her lips. "The truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing beats telling the truth…"

"The truth, huh?" Mai raised a doubtful brow.

"Didn't you just mock that a few moments ago, mother?"

"Oh shush, you two," Azula waved her hand dismissively. "I tell the truth when it's advantageous to do so, and it just so happens that, in this particular instance, it is. Westeros has made me realize that lying is expected. The truth? Not so much. It's never planned for. It's always jarring to all those little people in their little capital playing their little games with their little minds. The truth is quite potent a weapon if used correctly and on the right people. Far more than lying would be at any rate. Eddard Stark responds well to the truth."

"You know, all this talk of plots and plans, and yet you don't seem to be the least bit worried about these 'Others,' or their supposed 'god' stalking Ty Lee," she recalled Sho-Yu's troubling report from three days ago.

"And what of the Reach?" Steffon asked, blatantly projecting a deep concern about Margaery's fate across his youthful face, a concern she shared.

Azula stopped and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "Don't ever suggest to me that I do not care about my daughter's safety, Mai. Don't _ever_ ," she warned, their cool surroundings were taken over by a sudden heat until it warmed and finally cooled once more. "Her safety is always my primary concern, and there is little else to do than what is currently being done. I could prohibit the order from entering the grove by killing them all, but then we get into the difficult problems of slowed communications, and a severe lack of people within the grove to ensure Ty Lee remains safe when she goes there. Well, Steffon would be there," she tipped her head towards her son, "but having an individual there at all hours is tricky, especially if they are my son. He needs to be on hand to make certain 'appearances.'"

"Apologies, I didn't mean to suggest that, it's just that you haven't said much in the way of the creatures. Or your plans for them," she bowed her head.

Azula continued walking and she followed at her side, "These 'Others' have had thousands of years to find a way to breach the wall, and there is no evidence of them suddenly gaining the ability to do so now. Nor are there vast armies of the dead amassing on the other side of that frozen eyesore."

"But how do you know? Wouldn't allowing Sho-Yu to pursue this investigation into 'Bloodraven' and 'Children of the Forest,' be beneficial to find out for certain?" the details within Sho-Yu's account, strange as they were, did not find Mai doubting Steffon's reasoning.

"It would if it wasn't just him and a handful of tired old men with four firebenders. No. Once Lord Stark learns of the Others, I have no doubt a larger force of Northmen could be called upon to escort Sho-Yu and the Targaryen boy where they need to go. But as it stands, my enemies down here currently have more of my attention than my apparent enemies up there. Priorities, you two. The army of the dead might as well be walking kindling from what Captain Shagan tells me about the Deadship's burning."

"And if you are worried on the girl, she will be safe," Azula assured them. "Especially if her father decides to bumble into an alliance with the Lannisters against the crown."

"If? You know the Reach hates you, right? That's about as foregone a conclusion as could be possible," she pointed out, not wrong in the assumption. Mai knew the man had spent no insignificant amount of time, after his release from Storm's End, claiming them all to be witches and consorting with demons from the seven-hells, only for it to fall on deaf ears. _'Stannis was ready to take action against him for it,'_ she recalled.

"Not all of the houses in the Reach share that opinion," Steffon stated.

"True, but those same houses are not exactly up to par with those that do," she countered.

"Look," Azula rubbed her temple. "A great many people hate me, yet many of them still follow me out of fear," she reminded her, wagging her finger as she did so. "Renly is a good example of that, Mai, you know this. Unless, you're talking about Mace's mad ranting?" a sinister laugh escaped Azula's lips. "It didn't do anything to me then, and it's not going to do anything to me now. Mace's ravings only served to better my position in the long run. The man's now an embarrassment to his own lords and family. Even the faith didn't believe him! I must say, I rather enjoyed his lonely descent into madness."

"But he is still lord of the Reach, and when you inevitably reveal the bending, and not just to Stark and Oberyn, what then?" Steffon's calm voice questioned, his eyes radiating the same brilliance as her friend's. "Will those who dismissed him, do so again?"

"By that point, it would be moot," Azula faced her son, as they walked. "The crown would be on our side, as will the North, especially the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale once Robert summons them from their rocky perches. The Stormlands will side with Robert and if the faith decides to raise a ruckus because of the bending, then I have no qualms about being the second coming of Maegor, only smarter, and no less cruel. So woe is to them if they choose to have their little 'Trials by Combat,' and 'Trials of Seven.' Besides, Mace isn't really the problem. His mother is the real power behind the Tyrells, and she is a crafty one with an aversion to unnecessary risk-taking. Their entrance into any war against the crown isn't guaranteed. Then again, perhaps Mace's hate will shine through? It _is_ an emotion I can trust," Azula tapped her finger across her lower lip. "Hmmm, well time will tell, and should time prove such a thing is the case, then Margaery will suddenly find herself several quickly stopping heartbeats away from claiming Highgarden. She will have become one of my most prized possessions."

"You would murder her entire family?" Steffon's voice grew low and cautious.

"If things fall in that direction? Then, yes," Azula stopped in her tracks and shared an intense stare with her son. "You always knew this was in the cards, boy."

"You promised no innocen…" the formerly calm voice turned into a low growl.

"If they choose to become our enemies, then they are not innocents," her friend, although standing a full head shorter, still managed to somehow seem of equal height against Steffon's towering, and still growing, frame. Azula planted a stiff finger into the center of Steffon's armored chest as she spoke. "Or am I wrong?"

The young knight remained silent, glowering at his mother. "No."

"Good, now unless you find some better alternative that helps us achieve greater control over Westeros, I'm all ears. But until that time, take care not to let your feelings for the girl distract you," Azula turned and proceed ahead, unmoved by the discussion.

As mother and son had spoken, Mai could not help but remind herself that Margaery had held no true loyalty to her own family, because of Azula. All those burned letters from Highgarden, and all those classes 'specially' designed to erode Margaery's will, as they had Theon's, caused a small tremor to run up her body. At the back of her mind, she could still hear Ty Lee's voice.

" _It's not right, Azula! They're still Margaery's family by blood, they should…"_

" _I'll decide what's right, Ty Lee, and I will have no more discussion on the matter! Unless, of course, you want me to raise the girl myself? Well?" a ghost of promised spite lay hidden in her words._

" _No, Fire Lord. I will obey…"_

Lost in thought, Mai did not see the first hints of the Repurposed, Fire Nation troopers, Flameguard, or Red priests, until they were right in front of her, littered down along the extensive tunnel leading towards the iceman.

"Now let's see what prize the fleet has claimed in my name, shall we?"

"Fire Lord! Fire Lord!" they all started speaking before bowing or presenting flame, as they passed. Ten torches lined either side of the rocky shaft, each with a Fire Nation trooper flanked by a duo of Flameguard. A group of six red priests stood near the opening leading to the hanging cell of the thing from the North, which was surrounded by a thin walkway where three wall-mounted torches were spread evenly along its circumference. The torches gave off a dull orange hue as they approached. Mai looked towards Azula and found her sporting an annoyed pout across her face. She saw her friend's eyes narrow and the torches suddenly flared a bright blue.

"That's better," Azula smiled, and approached a nearby priest, while Mai shared an apprehensive look with Steffon.

Suspended crystalline eyes fell upon her as they advanced upon the six priests. One of them was a woman, Mai came to realize, once the blue light had revealed her face. All of the hooded priests before them stood mesmerized by the steel casket hanging over an almost bottomless pit of jagged obsidian shards. As far down as her eyes could see, were the tell-tale reflections of azure flame reflecting off of numerous glassy surfaces. The priests whispered something under their collective breaths, before turning to them. A haunted look lay hidden in their sunken eyes, as one of them spoke, "The Other, Fire Lord. It must die before it regains its strength." The man lowered his head, and lingered a moment on his words, seemingly at a loss for them, before he rose his head to stare Azula dead in the eyes.

"And how long will that take, priest?" Azula stood, a sole hand at her hip with another gesturing for the man to continue. "I plan on showing it off before destroying it."

"Less than a fortnight, perhaps even only a few days at most," the man seemed confused and almost terrified of his own words, though Azula took them in stride.

"Well," she sighed, staring up at the pinpoints of blue light in the steel box. "It's a good thing Stark is already on the island," Azula pat the priest on his shoulder. "I will send for more guards and speed up the timetable for its viewing. Say…within three days? How does that sound?"

"Why don't you bring him here first?" Mai suggested, not wanting to risk the thing somehow escaping its confinement as it almost had on the ship.

"No," Azula turned to her and shook her head. "I don't want Stark distracted by this," she pointed to the cage, "until after he makes his decision on the incest known to me," she pointed at herself. "I need him invested in the state of the crown first. This is just a mildly interesting sideshow, nothing more."


End file.
